


set it on fire

by DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Chris and Caitlin are goals, Dex just wants to take care of people, Genderfluid Nursey, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, NurseyDex Week, Panic Attacks, Probably going to get smutty later, Ransom and Holster are excellent captains, Sharing a Room, and friends, have you met me?, i know what i'm about, sexual and romantic tension so thick you could cut it with Jack Zimmermann's cheekbones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: “Did you see him in there? Dex practically had a breakdown at the idea of sharing the room with me. He hates me. He actually hates me."In the aftermath of the Dib Flip, Derek and Will have to negotiate what they think they know about each other and their actual feelings.(inspired bya meta post from eglantinewynne-baugh on Tumblrafter "Dib Flip". Many thanks to her for agreeing to let me expand on the concept.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's NurseyDex week, I said. Wouldn't it be fun to write something, I said. Maybe do one chapter for each of the daily prompts, I said. 
> 
> Five thousand words and change later, I have one chapter done? I kind of know where this is going, but not really? And I still have to finish This don't even feel like falling? Why am I like this? At least I got it up before the end of NurseyDex week?
> 
> *flings fic into the ether and runs away*
> 
> (thanks to ahausonfire, raspberrycordial, and shellybelle for listening to me whine and cheering me on, and to ahausonfire for excellent tagging suggestions)

i do not want to have you  
to fill the empty parts of me  
i want to be full on my own

i want to be so complete  
i could light a whole city  
and then  
i want to have you  
cause the two of  
us combined  
could set it  
on fire

-rupi kaur

 

Derek sinks down onto Chris’ bed as soon as the door closes behind him, letting go of the last shredded vestiges of his chill. His hands are shaking, he notices vaguely, before pressing them against his thighs to still them.

“This is gonna--” Chris’s enthusiasm cuts off abruptly, probably when he gets a good look at Derek’s face. “I thought you were happy about this?”

“I was. I am. But--” Derek picks at a frayed spot on his jeans, swallowing back tears. “I just--I thought we were doing so much better. Me and Dex. I thought--I thought we were friends.”

“You are friends.” Chris insists. “We all are.”

Derek shakes his head, digs his fingers into his thigh. “Did you see him in there? Dex practically had a breakdown at the idea of sharing the room with me. He hates me. He actually hates me. He’s been faking it really well, but…”

The tears clog his throat, choking off his words, stinging at his eyes. Derek blinks furiously. Chris might be one of his best friends--probably his only best friend, the voice in his head mutters--but nobody wants to deal with Derek when he’s all weepy and needy. Nobody should have to. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Chris insists, settling on the bed and resting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. 

Derek gives him a look, as best he can under the circumstances.

“He doesn’t! It was just--unexpected. You know Dex doesn’t do well with surprises.”

“Maybe,” Derek mutters. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. If they keep talking he really will cry. He’s done a pretty good job so far of making sure nobody on the team knows what an emotional wreck he is sometimes, but if he doesn’t keep it up, he could see himself getting voted out of the Haus like it’s Big Brother: Frathouse Edition. Time for deflection.

“Anyway. I’ll deal. Think the Sharks are gonna make the playoffs this year?”

As expected, the question is enough to divert Chris’s attention and send him into a multilayered analysis of the Sharks’ season so far, current lines, and much more. All that’s required of Derek is the occasional “Yeah” or “Maybe” or “That’s chill.” He interjects an opinion here and there just to keep Chris rolling, but otherwise his participation in the conversation isn’t really required at all.

Unfortunately that means he has a lot of time to think. To think about the awareness of Dex that’s constantly simmering in the back of his mind. To replay all their interactions this year, picking and poking at them. Was that a look of disdain in Dex’s eyes instead of amusement? Did he flinch away from Derek’s touch when they were roughhousing? Did he make excuses to leave the room when Derek was there? 

Did he notice the seconds before Derek could make himself stop staring? It’s so hard not to look when the light streaming through the kitchen windows makes Dex’s hair seem to glow, when he shows up for a kegster with the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to reveal his forearms, when the corners of his mouth turn up in that shy smile when someone compliments him.

Every moment that Derek felt that little zing of attraction, every moment that he caught Dex’s eyes on him and thought maybe. Maybe. All this time, did Dex know? Was he laughing about Derek’s stupid, obvious crush? Did he hang out with his CS classmates and make fun of the way Derek mooned over him? Did--

“Derek!” 

From the volume of Chris’s voice, it’s not the first time he’s tried to get Derek’s attention. “What?” He does his best not to make his voice defensive but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed. “Sorry, C, I zoned out on you for a minute.”

Chris eyes him narrowly, but after a long moment clearly decides not to call Derek on it. “I was asking if you wanted to watch Ninja Warrior tonight with me and Cait?”

Derek hesitates. Honestly, mindless television and bro-cuddles sounds really really fucking good right now. He’s not a hundred percent sure he can hold it together, but Chris and Caitlin will only chirp him a little bit if he tears up during the emotional backstories. 

“Sure,” he says. “Wanna order pizza? My treat.”

“You don’t have--”

“I want to,” he interrupts, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. He takes a breath and forces it to gentle. To be chill. “I want to.”

Chris shrugs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Okay, I’ll text Cait. Should we ask Dex and Lardo if they want some?”

“If he’s made it off the floor,” Derek mutters under his breath, pretending to ignore the reproachful look Chris shoots him. Resentment has got to be better than sadness. Healthier.

Right?

Anyway, there’ll be time to fall apart later. When he’s alone. 

* * *

“Dex.”

He can hear Lardo’s voice, but it doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes any sense. There’s no escape from the whirl of his thoughts, the hurricane of  _ this can’t be happening _ and  _ I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.  _

“Dex, I’m going to sleep.”

It’s bad enough being on the same team as Nursey. Seeing him every day. Sitting across from him at team breakfast. Carefully not looking at him in the locker room. Nursey patrol during kegsters, when he suddenly gets about a million times more tactile. Mandatory frog bonding time where Will tries his very best to pretend his crush isn’t actually visible from space.

But this. Will isn’t going to survive this. Sharing a room with Nursey? It’s like his worst nightmare and his biggest fantasy rolled into one. He’s going to see Nursey drowsy-eyed and yawning in the mornings, or curled up with a book on his bed, or with nothing but a towel on after a shower. He’s going to see Nursey glowing with enthusiasm as he tries to explain the thing he just read. It’s going to be intimate in a way that Will has managed to avoid.

And Nursey isn’t stupid. There’s no way he’s not going to pick up on Will’s huge, embarrassing crush. He won’t be cruel, not the way Will was afraid of at first, before he really knew Nursey. In some ways that would be easier. If Nursey was cruel, Will could have faith that his crush would eventually die a natural death. But no. Nursey will be...nice. Kind. Gentle about the fact that he’s so far out of Will’s league they might as well be playing different sports.

“Dex, are you okay?”

It’s not just Nursey who’ll know, either. Bitty probably already knows, judging from some hints he’s dropped during baking sessions, but given the amount of pining he did over Jack before they got together, he’s not likely to chirp Will about it. Chowder would probably try to matchmake, excited for his two best friends to get together and too sweet to realize that it could never happen.

But there are so many other guys on the team, and the only thing that spreads faster than gossip is the smell of Wicky’s farts. And no matter how much Will tells himself this is  _ Samwell _ , he has nothing to worry about, it’s  _ okay, _ he can’t help remembering every hateful word that ever came out of his brother’s mouth, landing like bruising fists against Will’s heart.

“Dex? Poindexter?”

“He’s fucking shaking, Holtzy. Lards, why didn’t you tell us he was this bad?”

“He wasn’t like this the whole time. I figured I’d give him some time to work out his big gay panic, but when I came back it was like he didn’t even hear me.”

Everyone is going to know. Everyone is going to know and maybe they’ll just look at him pityingly and maybe they’ll tell their friends until he’s the joke of the campus, the pathetic, ugly ginger who couldn’t even hide his crush on Derek Nurse. Someone will make him into a meme and it’ll get back to his parents and they’ll kick him out and he won’t be able to work on his uncle’s boat and he’ll have to quit Samwell because he can’t afford it especially after he gets kicked off the team--

“Dex.” 

A warm hand covers his. “Dex. Poindexter. Hey. Look at me.”

\--he’ll have to get a minimum wage job at Best Buy or some bullshit, probably two to cover his living expenses, no fucking way he’ll be able to afford hockey any longer, never time or money to strap his skates on and fly across the ice, never see Nursey again, never pass without looking, knowing he’ll be there--

“Will!” Ransom’s face fills his vision. “Will, I need you to breathe with me, okay? Can you feel me breathing?”

Will blinks. His hand is on Ransom’s chest. How did it get there?

“Okay, here we go. Deep breath in.” 

Ransom is warm under his hand, even through his sweatshirt. His chest rises and falls under Will’s hands, his eyes encouraging. Breathing is hard, something in Will’s throat choking him, but he does his best to follow along.

“Good, Will. I’m proud of you.”

Will shakes his head. Ransom doesn’t know--

“I am.” Ransom’s voice is firm, unshakable. “Can you tell me what you need?”

Will opens his mouth, but closes it again when his mind is blank of answers. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” Ransom says soothingly. “But maybe lets get you up off this floor before your legs go to sleep?”

Will starts to nod, then shakes his head, his breathing speeding up again. If he leaves--if the others see him like this--the whole team could be in the Haus--

“Hey, deep breaths,” Ransom says, tightening his grip on Will’s hand. “How about the attic? You can come hang out with me as long as you want. I’ve got the best blanket up there; you’re gonna love it. Okay?”

It feels like forever before Will can nod, like moving through a dream where you’re trapped in slow motion, but Ransom rewards him with a bright, beaming smile. 

“‘Swawesome. Okay, up you get.”

Will stumbles a little as he gets to his feet, pins and needles racing through his legs. Ransom catches him, staggering a little under his weight before they find their balance. 

“Somebody’s been eating his protein, huh? Okay, here we go. Out the door and up the attic stairs. Nobody’s around…”

Ransom’s one-sided babble keeps flowing as they make their way up the attic stairs, until he gets Will settled on the bottom bunk. It takes a minute of digging, but he produces a blanket in Samwell white and scarlet, swirling it around Will’s shoulders with all the flair of a stage magician.

Will blinks in surprise when the weight of the blanket settles over him. “What--what’s this?” he rasps, wincing at the roughness of his voice.

“Weighted blanket,” Ransom says cheerfully, settling onto the bunk next to him. “It’s fucking magic, bro. Holtzy ordered it for me to use when I go coral reef. Really helps.”

Will worries the corner of the blanket between his fingers. The plush texture of the fabric feels amazing against his skin, soft and soothing. “Yeah, it’s--good.”

“Cool.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually Will comes back to himself enough to realize what happened, to feel his face heat with the embarrassment of having to be cajoled up the stairs by one of his captains and wrapped in a blanket like a fucking child. 

“Hey. Dex.” 

When he forces himself to look up at Ransom, though, he sees understanding looking back at him. 

“Feeling better?”

Will rolls his eyes. “Feeling fucking embarrassed. Can’t believe I lost my shit like that.”

“It’s a tough time of the year,” Ransom says easily. “I went under a table in the library twice this week, ask Holtzy. Just everything getting to you?”

Any other time Will would take the out, but he’s too raw right now, ripped open. “I--”

“Or,” Ransom continues, “maybe you’re freaking out a little about rooming with Nurse?”

Will can feel himself curling up smaller under the blanket, trying to get his whole body under it. “I--uh--”

Ransom waits him out as the silence stretches longer and longer.

“I don’t think I can,” Will says finally. “It’s--he’s--I’m--”

He stutters to a halt, unable to articulate all of the thoughts that held him immobile on the floor of Lardo’s room. 

“It feels like the end of everything,” he finally says. “Like I’m not going to survive.”

“Feelings are the worst,” Ransom says. “Especially when they’re wrong.”

Will nods, not looking up. “Yeah.”

“Feelings lie, Dex. They tell us that everything is terrible and that nothing is ever going to be okay again, so you need friends to tell you the truth. People you trust. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Will blurts, his eyes jerking up to to meet Ransom’s. “You’re--of course I do.”

Ransom’s face is serious, intent. “Then I need you to trust me when I tell you that you can do this. I’ve never seen you fail at anything you started. Your feelings are lying to you and they’re wrong.”

Will’s face warms even more, until he’s sure his cheeks are a match for his hair. 

“Okay?”

Ransom waits patiently for a response, waits while Will tries and fails to find words. “Okay,” he finally says. 

“Sweet.” Ransom pushes to his feet. “I’m gonna go grab you something sweet from the kitchen. Brb.”

“Did--did you actually say a texting acronym out loud?” Will blurts before he can think better of it.

Ransom’s smile makes it abundantly clear why he’s made The Swallow’s 50 Most Beautiful all four years at Samwell. Really, this team full of like, the whole spectrum of attractive guys is more than Will’s little queer heart should reasonably be expected to handle. 

“Chyeah.” Ransom waggles his eyebrows, clearly doing his best Nursey impression. He laughs at Will’s eyeroll and disappears down the stairs. 

Will rubs the blanket between his fingers again, doing his best not to think about anything. Plenty of time for thinking later.

* * *

“Hey, Nursey,” Holster says from behind the couch. “You got a sec?” 

Derek considers turning to look at his captain, but he’s pretty sure that would be the end of Caitlin stroking her fingers through his curls, her fingertips gently massaging his scalp. It’s just not worth it. “Do I have to move? Because I gotta be honest, if it comes down to a choice between you and Farms’ scalp massage, I’m gonna pick her.”

Cait tugs lightly at his hair. “Go on, you big baby. There’s more where that came from when you get back.”

He heaves an exaggerated sigh, reluctantly lifting his head from her shoulder. “Fiiiine.”

Derek has to look back as he gets to his feet. No matter how many times Chris has said that no, he doesn’t mind Derek cuddling with him and Cait, it’s a lot. Derek’s a lot. They go above and beyond, but that doesn’t mean they won’t get tired of him if he imposes enough. 

They’re smiling, though, reassuring and so bright it’s almost blinding as they shoo him in the direction of the doorway where Holster waits for him, gesturing him into the kitchen.

There’s a bowl of biscuits on the table, sitting next to a container of butter and a jar of what is probably some kind of jam, given Bitty’s recent fugue state. It’s a warm golden brown and Derek’s mouth starts watering like he and Chris didn’t just put away the better part of a large pizza by himself.

“Hungry?” Holster asks, sitting down and cutting open a biscuit. It steams a little, clearly still warm.

Derek slides into another chair. If he’s going to get interrogated, at least he’ll get some food out of it. “I could eat. You trying to fatten me up for next season?”

“Gotta get those gains, brah,” Holster returns, drawing the last word out in his best approximation of Shitty’s drawl. “Nah, just talked Bitty into making some biscuits to go with the apple butter he saved for me. Thought you might like some.”

“And that’s the only reason?” Derek shoots back, taking a biscuit and breaking it apart, watching the way it flakes open in his hands.

Holster shrugs, spreading butter on both halves of his biscuit before passing the butter knife over. “Thought you might wanna talk. I’m still your captain, bro. Heard it got a little rough in there after the dib flip.”

Derek opens his mouth to say something flippant, but Holster’s gaze is gentle and knowing, and what comes out is, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Because?” Holster prompts when it’s clear no more words are forthcoming.

“Because I won’t survive a year of sharing a room with somebody who hates me. I don’t know if I can survive a week.” Derek watches the butter melt into his biscuit slowly disappearing into the nooks and crannies. “I--I can’t do it.”

Holster hums consideringly, opening the jar and slathering the apple butter over both of his biscuit halves. “Okay, bro, I think we need to go back to base assumptions here. What makes you think Dex hates you?”

Derek laughs bitterly. “I’d say completely losing his shit when he found out we’d have to share is a pretty fucking good indication.”

“Nursey.” Holster’s tone is gentle. “You’re a ‘swawesome dude, but you’re not the center of the universe.”

“I know!” Derek retorts hotly. “I know.”

Holster passes the jar over. “So why do you assume that Dex hating you is the only answer?”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” Derek tastes the apple butter, lets the sweet-tart flavor, with just a hint of cinnamon, flow over his tongue. “Not everybody has to be like you and Rans. Sometimes people just don’t like each other.”

“True,” Holster allows. “But you and Dex have been really chill lately. Would you, for the sake of argument, consider the idea that maybe he doesn’t hate you? That maybe he lost it for some other reason?”

Derek takes a bite of his biscuit. If his mouth is full, he doesn’t have to answer, right? 

Holster sighs. “Just think about it, okay?” 

“Fine,” Derek mumbles around a mouthful of biscuit, crumbs spraying everywhere. Tears are stinging at his eyes again, so he keeps them firmly fixed on his plate.

They eat in silence for another few minutes, methodically demolishing the biscuits. Finally, when the basket is empty, Holster sighs again and pushes back from the table.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it,” he says, setting a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Me and Rans, day or night. I mean it.”

Derek nods, even though he knows he probably won’t. No point putting his shit on anybody else.

* * *

Will wakes up and for one blissful moment, he doesn’t remember the events of the previous day. But all too soon, he rolls over, muffling a groan into his pillow as reality comes crashing back down. 

Yesterday unrolls in his head like a highlight reel, but now that he’s past his initial panic, his memory points out things he didn’t, couldn’t notice before. The furrow between Nursey’s eyebrows when Will asked Lardo what he’d done to deserve dibs. The way his face had fallen at Will’s panic, the way he’d tried to talk Will down by pointing out the reduced rent cost. 

“Shit,” Will groans. “I’m a dick. I’m the biggest dick in the history of ever.”

He pushes himself out of bed before the guilt can paralyze him. If there’s one thing that the last year has taught him it’s how to apologize to Nursey. And since it’s Saturday, he should have enough time before his d-partner wakes up.

He picks up his phone from the table where he’d tossed it the night before, unable to bring himself to deal with any of it. There are several updates to the group text, mostly regarding jam, and a lot of unopened texts from Chowder.

**Chowder: hey** **  
****Chowder: i know ur worried** **  
****Chowder: but nursey thinks u hate him?** **  
****Chowder: u should talk to him** **  
****Chowder: i’m excited u guys are gonna be next door** **  
** **Chowder: we’re gonna have so much fun**

Will winces, tapping out his replies.

**Me: it’s gonna be fun** **  
** **Me: don’t worry, I’m on my way to apologize**

He’s somehow unsurprised when the response is nearly instant.

**Chowder: good** **  
** **Chowder: i knew u would**

And a few seconds later

**Chowder: this is gonna b the best yr evr!!!!**

Will smiles as he texts back.  **Yeah it is.**

* * *

Derek wakes up and strongly considers just pulling the covers over his head and staying there for the rest of the day. His eyes are still a little tender from the night before, but at least his nose isn’t clogged like it was by the time he finished crying, so breathing is totally a thing that can happen now. Awesome.

He turns over, wrapping his arms around an extra pillow and does his best to go back to sleep, but his bladder seems to feel it’s time to get out of bed and is sending him urgent telegraphs to that effect. His brain, although not quite working at full capacity, helpfully points out that it’s way past the time he normally has his first cup of coffee and if he wants to avoid a caffeine deprivation headache, he’s going to have to get up and around soon.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face in the pillow. That doesn’t seem sufficient to fully express his feelings, though. Not eloquent enough. “Fuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkk.” 

Fortunately his roommate is gone for the weekend, so nothing is getting pitched at his head, but his phone buzzes repeatedly on his desk. Probably just the group text, but it’s irregular enough that he can’t just ignore it and go back to sleep.

Heaving a deep sigh, Derek rolls slowly up into a sitting position. He grabs his phone and shuffles down the hall to the bathroom, takes care of business, then shuffles back.

Almost as soon as the door closes behind him, his phone buzzes again in his hand, the screen brightening to show his notifications, appearing one right after the other.

**Dex: I was a dick** **  
****Dex: I’m sorry** **  
** **Dex: I have apology coffee and scones.**

Derek hesitates. He’s approximately seventy-five percent sure that Chris put Dex up to this, and he’s still not sure he can face Dex right now. He needs time to wrap himself up in his chill again, to rebuild the walls between them, especially since they’re going to be living in the same room.

Before he can type out some kind of deflection, another text comes through.

**Dex: I get it if you don’t want to see me rn. I can leave it outside your door** **  
** **Dex: I’m sorry I freaked out on you; that must have freaked you out, too. Next time I’ll try to keep it together better. Hopefully you can forgive me eventually**

Derek blinks at his screen. Unlocks his phone.  **did you just four-part apology me?**

He can practically see Dex shrug.  **Got to treat my future roomie right. That means apologizing when I fuck up.**

**Come on up,** Derek sends back. The knot that’s been twisting in his gut since the day before loosens, just a little. Just enough so he feels like he can take a full breath. Like maybe they’re going to be okay.

* * *

“Are you sure y’all are gonna have enough food?” Bitty asks, opening the fridge like he didn’t just close the door two seconds ago.

“Chill, Bits,” Nursey drawls, setting the box he’s carrying down on the kitchen table. “We’re not staying all summer. It’s just a few extra days.”

Bitty bites his lip, clearly mentally cataloging the fridge contents. “Yeah, but…”

“You couldn’t fit any more food in that fridge with a crowbar, Bitty,” Will interrupts, putting his own box down and gently closing the fridge door. “We’ll be fine. If by some strange circumstance we run out of that food, there’s delivery or we can take my truck and make a murder run.”

“I suppose--”

Will steers Bitty away from the fridge. “Isn’t Jack supposed to be here in an hour? Are you packed yet?”

“Oh, Lord!” Bitty rushes out of the kitchen and toward the stairs at very nearly top speed, his voice almost dopplering.

“Nice job, Poindexter,” Nursey says, picking his box back up.

Will shrugs, doing his best not to stare at the way Nursey’s arm muscles, completely bared in his “Feminist as Fuck” tank top, shift and flex with the motion. Common sense doesn’t do much to drag his eyes away, but picking up his own box is a decent distraction. “Worked better than I thought it would. I thought I’d have to sign a contract to not let you touch Betsy II before we’d get him out of here.”

“Bro, I’m hurt,” Nursey huffs.

By now Will can mostly tell when he’s joking, but he can’t stop himself from glancing over to double-check. That’s a mistake, though, because it means he gets caught as Nursey shifts the box to one arm--with even more rippling muscles--and pulls the hem of his tank top up to wipe sweat off his face. 

Will feels a little dizzy with all the skin visible, warm brown tinted with gold in the afternoon light. Like he might need a fainting couch, have a nice lie-down with a cold cloth over his eyes to recover. But no, this is his life now. He’s going to see Nursey like this  _ all the time _ and not be able to touch, so he might as well get used to it now. Exposure therapy, or whatever. It’s got to get easier, right?

* * *

It takes approximately three hours for Derek to fully grasp how screwed he is. He has an inkling when Dex starts helping him load boxes from his dorm room into the back of Dex’s truck, freckled biceps straining at his t-shirt sleeves until Derek expects to hear stitches popping at any moment. He gets a better picture when Dex cajoles Bitty out of the kitchen; it’s so smart and so thoughtful at the same time and just--so Dex. 

But it’s not until Dex gives up and strips off his paint-streaked t-shirt, wiping his face one more time before dropping it on the floor of their room, that Derek really, truly realizes how much trouble he’s in. He’s seen Dex without his shirt on, of course. They share a locker room--he’s seen Dex with a lot less on than a pair of khaki cargo shorts. 

But this is different. For one thing, there’s just the two of them. Everyone else has scattered to their respective homes, with no other sound in the Haus than the music coming from Derek’s Bluetooth speaker and the clink of paint cans and rollers. It’s a more intimate thing, here in the room that’s going to be theirs, to see Dex like this. The muscles of his back flex, shifting under his pale, freckled skin, as he works the roller, slowly covering the walls in the soft yellow they’d finally managed to agree on after weeks of back-and-forth wrangling. 

A thin sheen of sweat glistens on Dex’s skin, outlining every plane of muscle. Derek has to force down a visceral  _ want _ , the desire to trace those lines of muscle with his tongue, to taste the salt of Dex’s sweat and find the flavor of his skin. 

But he has to get over this, Derek tells himself firmly. They’re going to be sharing this room for the next two years, unless he’s dumb enough to slip up and let Dex know how he feels. To make Dex uncomfortable enough to move out, or to demand that Derek does. He’s going to have to get used to Dex in all stages of undress. To having Dex in his space.

“Hey! Nurse!” 

A paint-spattered rag hits Derek square in the center of his chest, startling him out of his reverie. 

“Wake up,” Dex says, but he’s smiling. “We need to get this done tonight so we can move the furniture tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Derek says, picking up his own roller again, grateful for the excuse to busy his hands and eyes with something else. He keeps sneaking looks over at Dex, though, like catching it in little glances will make it easier to take. It’s got to get easier eventually. Right?

* * *

Nursey yells “Pivot!” when they get the new mattress to the top of the stairs and Will nearly drops his end out of sheer outrage. 

“Dude. You do not quote Ross in this Haus.”

“Oh, Ross is a dickbag,” Nursey agrees easily. “But that scene is iconic.”

Will snorts. “Yeah, well the next time you decide to pull out that line, I’m gonna drop the mattress on your fucking foot.”

“Harsh, bro,” Nursey replies, but thankfully subsides, following Will around the railing at the top of the stairs and down to their door. 

Thankfully the trip with the second mattress is accomplished without any references to terrible TV characters; they get it settled in the bottom bunk just as the last sliver of sun disappears below the horizon. Will collapses onto the mattress with a grunt, then lets out a huff of surprise when Nursey flops down next to him, bouncing him into the air. 

“Ugh.” Nursey throws an arm over his eyes as he groans. “I’m starving but I don’t wanna move.”

“Same,” Will agrees. “They can put a man on the moon, but they can’t figure out how to teleport food to us when we want it? Weak.”

Nursey laughs, his real laugh that always sounds like it’s been surprised out of him. “The struggle is real, bro.”

Will rolls his head to the side, because what’s the point of an epic eyeroll if Nursey can’t see it to appreciate it? The joke’s on him, though, because Nursey is looking back at him, and they’re so close. Close enough to count Nursey’s dark, curling lashes, feel the warmth of his body, hear it when he sucks in a surprised breath.

It’s a frozen moment, the two of them face to face, breathing each other’s air. If this was a movie, Will thinks dazedly, he would lean in, or Nursey would, until their lips met. He wants that so badly he almost can’t breathe, wants the texture of Nursey’s mouth pressed to his, the slide of tongues, the intimacy of two bodies meeting.

But Will’s life has never resembled a romantic movie, or anything other than a comedy of errors. He forces his disappointment down deep and makes his way to his feet.

“Come on, let’s go see what’s gonna warm up the fastest,” he throws over his shoulder. “Or what we can eat cold.

“You’re a genius,” Nursey declares. Will wishes he didn’t know his roommate well enough to hear the slightly false edge to his voice. “I’ve always said so.”

Will shakes his head. “That’s just not true, Nurse.”

“Sure it is,” Nursey returns, following him down the stairs, and this is going to be fine. Will can do this.

It’s going to be fine.

Really.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving in means having to face facts. Facts about the way they feel. Facts about what they really want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, this chapter is where we start to earn that Explicit rating. But also where our boys suffer from inescapable feelings. I don't think it's quite the "have tissues ready" sort of thing yet, but be aware that they are both being _super extra_ in this chapter.
> 
> Since I'm loosely basing this fic on the themes for NurseyDex week (until I decide to go in another direction because my brain is the worst), this chapter is based on Room Sharing/Bed Sharing
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Shelly because I am a human disaster and I don't know if I'll have time to write her a separate birthday thing in time for her birthday but she's always super nice and encouraging anyway.

“Nursey.”

“Nursey.”

“Derek!”

Derek blinks his eyes open, groggy and still half-asleep. His neck aches and so does his forehead where it’s pressed against the window glass. “‘Sup?” he croaks, his voice rusty as he straightens in his seat.

“Wake up,” Dex says, his mouth quirked up a little at the corners. “We’re almost home.”

Hearing that word in Dex’s voice has something warm curling in Derek’s stomach. It’s meant a lot of places to him in his life. Planting pansies and geraniums in the window boxes in front of his parents’ brownstone and smiling every time he walks back up the steps between them. The smell of cookies baking in his Nana’s kitchen and the taste of sugar and chocolate when she let him lick the spoon. Lying back on the roof with his sister and pointing up at the stars, making up shapes and stories.

His dorm at Andover was never home, always a little sterile, holding his things but never really a place he could settle into comfortably. His dorm at Samwell was a little better; he never felt like it resented him being there, but he could never forget that it was just a temporary place.

But the Haus. The Haus that always smells like Bitty’s baking, warm and sweet. The Haus with the curtains in the kitchen and the disgusting couch and the fairy lights that somehow always end up left up between one kegster and the next. The Haus that seems to have laughter soaked into the walls, so the warmth of it lingers even when the rooms are quiet. 

Suddenly Derek is wide awake, watching through the window as Dex steers the truck down familiar streets, around corners, until they turn onto frat row and park in front of the Haus.

“We’re home,” Derek says softly, smiling at Dex. When Dex smiles back, it’s an expression Derek has never seen on his face. It makes Derek’s heart beat faster. Maybe. Maybe.

The slam of the door bursting open and the thunder of feet on the porch break the spell, shatter the moment, but this is home, too. Chowder rushing down to pull them into hugs and tell them about everything that happened since the last time they Skyped, to help them haul their bags and boxes up to their room. Bitty rushing out of the kitchen for his own hugs, a smear of chocolate on his face and spatters of whipped cream on his apron and in his hair. Ollie and Wicky pitching in when they arrive--after the obligatory round of fistbumps--and getting help with their own things. 

Before long they’re all gathered around the kitchen table, loud and raucous, food and drinks and at least twice as many conversations as there are people in the room. Derek feels that warmth bloom inside him again, knowing that he doesn’t have to leave at the end of the night. He can go up to their room with its soft yellow walls and stretch out on the mattress that he and Dex hauled up the stairs. He can fall asleep here, with his team. His family.

* * *

“Dex?”

Will blinks slowly, then decides to ignore the voice floating up from below him. They hadn’t climbed the stairs and fallen into bed until nearly two, thanks to Ollie and Wicky’s insistence on christening the new set of Hausmates with a Mario Kart marathon. That had quickly morphed into a Great British Bake-Off marathon when everyone got tired of Bitty owning them and he claimed winner’s choice. Whatever Nursey wants, it can wait until morning.

“Dex?”

It can’t be that important. It can wait til morning.

“Dex?”

Will groans. “What, Nurse?”

“Which Star Wars character do you think would make the best therapist?”

The blinding irritation flashing through Will’s body burns away any sleepiness he might have felt. “Did you seriously wake me up to ask me that?”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” In Nursey’s defense, he really does sound apologetic. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

“No, no.” Will settles back into his pillow. “I’m awake now, and clearly you have opinions. So which character do  _ you _ think would make the best therapist?”

Sheets rustle below him as Nursey gets comfortable, too. Will squeezes his eyes closed and does his best not to picture it, but something about the darkness makes it impossible not to. They’d both stripped down to their boxers to sleep, the upstairs room warm even with the breeze from the window and the fan Nursey had brought. Will had done his best not to stare, but apparently his best wasn’t very good. His mental picture is clear and vivid, Nursey stretched out on his blue sheets, miles and miles of bare skin and tattoos and dark hair and Will  _ wants. _ It’s all too easy to imagine himself there, curled into Nursey’s side, one hand resting over his heart--

“See, I don’t know,” Nursey says musingly, jerking Will out of his reverie. “It would be easier if it was which character needs therapy the most. That’s clearly Anakin.The Order fucks him up down and sideways. It’s like they  _ wanted _ him to go Dark Side.”

“Nah,” Will replies, tucking his hands behind his head. “I mean, Anakin had issues, but Leia? Her whole fucking  _ planet _ got destroyed in front of her eyes. You can’t tell me she didn’t have nightmares for the rest of her life.”

Nursey’s voice is more excited now, more awake. “Yeah, but Leia never let it stop her, you know? That’s why she’s such a badass. Therapy would have improved her life, but she lived it anyway. Think about what Anakin could have been with a little support! Maybe the Empire never would have risen! Maybe the Republic could have survived Palpatine’s manipulations.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Will says, but it’s fond, not sharp and cutting like it used to be. Even he can hear it.

“Takes one to know one,” Nursey retorts. Maybe Will’s imagining it, but Nursey’s voice seems to have the same fond note in it. “But! Original question. Who would be the best therapist?”

Will has to stop and think about that one. “I feel like most people would say Yoda, but I think Padme would be an awesome therapist. She was queen for years and a senator for more. She’d be good at listening and finding solutions.”

“Huh.” Nursey falls silent for a minute. “I hadn’t thought of that before, but that makes sense.”

The room is quiet except for the whir of the fan, and Will considers going back to sleep while he can, but now he’s curious. “Who’s your pick?”

Nursey hums consideringly. “I think probably Chewbacca. Following Han Solo around the galaxy has to teach you a lot about human nature.”

“You’re still high, aren’t you?” Will asks, half-joking. “I love Chewie, but come on, man.”

“I mean, maybe a little. But think about it, bro. It’ll come to you.”

Quiet settles again. Not sleepy, or not very. Comfortable, in a way that Will would never believed he could be with Nursey. He’s still tired, but something about the moment makes him want to linger.

Maybe that’s why he says, “What was your favorite movie when you were a kid?”

He can hear the sleepy smile in Nursey’s voice when he answers. He can’t keep himself from smiling in return.

He’s still smiling when he falls asleep, Nursey’s quiet murmurs following him down into the dark.

* * *

“Hey, Bits,” Derek says, catching himself before he trips over the windowsill and goes sprawling across the shingled surface of the Reading Room. One time almost falling off the roof was plenty. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” Bitty pulls the spoon out of his mouth. “Oh, well, you know. There’s shade and a breeze up here. Thought I’d bring myself a sweet treat and enjoy it. Plus the view’s not bad.”

Derek blinks, looking at the row of slightly-less decrepit frat houses across the street, including the never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed lax house. Sure, the grass was green and so were the trees, but it wasn’t a particularly...inspiring view. “Um. Okay.”

Bitty hands him a spoon, smiling inscrutably. “Have a bite and give it a minute.”

“Okay.” Derek scoops out a bite of whatever Bitty has in the pie tin. It doesn’t look like a standard baked pie, more like a cheesecake, but there’s a crust, and layers of probably chocolate and some kind of white cream. 

He pops the spoon in his mouth and doesn’t even bother to hold back the moan when the flavors hit his tongue. “Fuck, Bitty, this is probably the best thing I ever put in my mouth. I can’t tell if I’m having an orgasm or going into diabetic shock and I don’t care.”

“Nursey!” Bitty smacks his non-spoon hand lightly, cheeks flushing adorably. “Thank you, I suppose.”

Derek goes back for another bite. Just as sweet as he remembered, chocolate and whipped cream and some kind of nuts--”Is that Nutella?”

Bitty nods. “I found a recipe for a  [ Nutella trifle ](https://bexbakesandcakes.wordpress.com/2011/09/28/death-by-ferraro-rocher-trifle-or-should-i-call-it-nutella-trifle/) online, and it looked a lot like an icebox pie recipe I had, so I thought I’d try it in a chocolate crumb crust--”

The rest of Bitty’s words might as well have been Charlie-Brown-style trombone honking. Derek completely loses the plot when Dex rounds the corner of the Haus, pushing an old-fashioned manual lawnmower. And oh, he’s shirtless, because fuck Derek’s entire life, that’s why.

“There we go,” Bitty says slyly, and it’s Derek’s turn to smack him.

“Bits, you have a boyfriend!”

Bitty smirks at him. “Doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

It’s not that Derek had forgotten what Dex looks like. They share a room, a fact he’s slowly acclimating himself to. But that doesn’t lessen the impact of seeing him like this, wearing only a snapback, basketball shorts, and a pair of ratty sneakers. 

From this distance, Dex can’t see him. Derek doesn’t have to focus on controlling his reactions, keeping his chill in place--especially since Bitty clearly knows about his little crush. He can fully experience the effect, feel the way his mouth goes dry and his breath catches in his throat, his skin flushing, his heart beating faster. 

He can’t tear his eyes away from Dex, his skin a pale, pale gold under the freckles rendered invisible at this distance, muscles rippling under his skin as he pushes the mower across the grass in neat, even stripes. It’s mesmerizing. Derek knows there’s no way this can possibly end well, but he can’t. Stop. Staring.

“You want any more of this?” Bitty’s voice jerks him out of his reverie, making him aware of the spoon still in his hand and the half-full pie tin balanced between them.

“Huh. Oh. Nah, I think I better stop before I end up having to replace all my teeth.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “It’s not that sweet. But I’d better get it in the fridge before the whipped cream goes off. I’ll leave you to your...view.”

Oh, yeah. Bitty definitely knows. Derek just shrugs as Bitty climbs back through his window It’s a strange kind of relief, like relaxing a muscle he didn’t realize was tensed, to stop worrying about who can see what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, and just  _ be.  _

Yeah, it’s probably a bad idea. They’ve achieved a fragile truce somehow, managing to coexist for the last week without murdering each other and Derek hasn’t spontaneously combusted from unrequited sexual tension yet. But he knows, he knows that eventually something’s going to have to break. He’s afraid that something might end up being his heart. 

Dex pauses, taking off his snapback to wipe sweat off his forehead. He glances up at the roof and his eyes catch on Derek’s. Hold. 

They’re frozen like that for an endless moment, but all too soon Dex settles the snapback onto his head again and wraps his big, capable hands around the mower handles, pushing it back into motion. 

Derek allows himself five more minutes to watch. He wouldn’t want Dex to think he was running away or anything.

He’s definitely not running away when he stumbles through Chowder’s window and--thankfully empty--room. It’s just prudence. His silky basketball shorts do absolutely zero to disguise the state of his cock, hard and hopeful like there’s any chance of Dex reciprocating his interest. If the angle of view to the roof was even a little more shallow, there would have been no explaining it away.

He hesitates in the bathroom; a shower sounds really nice after the sticky, humid heat of the roof. But what really decides him is the fact that he has no idea how much longer Dex will be in the yard, how likely he is to be interrupted if he stays in their room instead. 

Derek strips his clothes off with brisk, efficient movements, letting them fall to the bathroom floor, and carefully adjusts the water until it’s pleasantly cool but not icy. He’s never really been into the cold shower treatment; there are simpler and more enjoyable ways to deal with his erections.

Stepping under the spray is an instant relief. He hadn’t realized how hot and gross he was until the cool water flowed over his skin, carrying away the dried and not-so-dried sweat and leaving him comfortable and almost shivering with the relief.

He gives serious consideration to the idea of just staying under the shower for the rest of the day, but Dex is probably going to want to clean up after he’s done with the lawn, and that--that’s an intriguing enough thought to get Derek’s stupid cock completely back on board.

What if Derek lingered? What if Dex had to come storming into the bathroom? What if--

_ The curtain jerks roughly back, letting in a wash of slightly cooler air. “Come  _ on _ , Nurse,” Dex says impatiently. “What’s taking so long? Other people would like--” _

_ The words die in his throat on a sharp inhale. Derek doesn’t stop the slow slide of his hand over his cock, but he does smirk over at Dex, keeps his voice casual. “In or out, Poindexter.” _

_ Dex’s swallowing is audible even over the spray, his face flushed a dull red. If this were real, he’d storm away, slamming the bathroom door behind him, and they’d pretend none of this ever happened. But this Dex is a fantasy, so he untucks the towel around his waist and drops it to the floor before stepping into the shower and pulling the curtain closed. _

_ “I’m in,” he says, his chin tilted up challengingly. Even in imagination, Derek can’t picture him any other way. _

_ “You sure are,” Derek murmurs, letting his eyes roam over Dex’s naked body, the flat, defined planes of his chest and arms, the ripples of his abs, the vee of muscle arrowing down to where his hard cock stands up. “What’s your next move?” _

_ When Dex reaches out, pulling Derek in by his arms, Derek goes with it, curling his free hand around Dex’s hip. He’d always kind of assumed Dex would be a straight-to-the-point, wham-bam-thank-you-sir kind of guy. But apparently his subconscious has other ideas, because fantasy-Dex presses his lips softly against Derek’s again and again. Long, sumptuous kisses, slowly teasing his lips apart until Dex’s tongue can dart inside, sliding against Derek’s. _

_ It’s sensory overload, every sense filled up with Dex. The smell of his skin, flushed pink and wet from the spray. The warm gold of his eyes around big, dark pupils, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. The little hungry sounds he makes in the back of his throat when they kiss, like he’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to kiss Derek. The taste of him, rapidly chasing the lingering sweetness of the pie out of Derek’s mouth. But more than anything, the feel of his skin, pressed against Derek everywhere, sliding wetly when they move. Surrounding him. _

_ “God, Nursey,” Dex groans, pulling back. “I want--” _

_ “Anything,” Derek breathes, letting out a groan of his own when Dex’s thigh presses against his cock. When his head falls back a little at the sensation, Dex takes advantage to leave a line of soft kisses down his neck. “Fuck…” _

_ Dex’s thigh presses a little harder. Derek can’t help but roll his hips, grinding into the pressure. “Want you,” Dex breathes, his lips brushing Derek’s earlobe. “Wanted you so long. Can I?” _

_ It takes Derek a moment to realize that Dex has pulled back a little, his hand hovering on Derek’s hip, inches from his cock. “Yeah,” he says, stumbling over the word a little. “Please.” _

_ Dex shifts--Derek absolutely doesn’t whimper at the loss of pressure--but then Dex’s cock is pressing against his, one of Dex’s big, work-rough hands wrapping around both of them. _

_ “Fuck,” Derek says. There are more words. A thousand words. More, in different languages, different flavors of the same thought. But most of them have disappeared from his mind, lost in the drumbeat of blood in his cock, the heavy, pulsing need to come. “Dex--” _

_ “Yeah,” Dex’s voice is low and rough in his ear. “So gorgeous, Nursey, come on. Want to see you come for me--” _

_ Derek’s fingers dig into Dex’s arms so tightly they ache, his whole body drawn taut. When he comes, it’s with Dex’s words echoing in his head.  _

_ Gorgeous _

_ Sweetheart _

_ Love _

The water is still just warm enough for comfort when Derek blinks his eyes open, free hand braced against the shower wall and legs still wobbly from a truly spectacular orgasm. But even the endorphin rush of coming can’t erase the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck.”

* * *

“Ready for the light?” Nursey asks, his hand on the switch by the door.

“Sure, thanks,” Will mumbles. He’s honestly at least half asleep already, scrolling mindlessly through his Twitter feed and savoring the pleasant ache in his muscles and how nice it feels to be horizontal. Summer conditioning or not, his dad was right; there’s no workout like mowing the lawn. 

The room goes dark and yeah, that’s even better; Will hadn’t even realized how much the overhead light was bothering him until it was gone. 

“You’re--” Nursey cuts off with a yelp and a thud, jerking Will a little more towards wakefulness. “You’re welcome.”

His voice has gone a little breathless, like it always does when he’s hurt and doesn’t want anyone to notice. Will flicks on his flashlight and rolls to the side, holding his phone so it illuminates the floor next to the bed. “Come toward the light,” he intones. 

“Ugh. Why are you like this, Poindexter?” Nursey’s voice is pretty much back to normal now and he’s not visibly limping or bleeding anywhere, so he’s probably okay. 

“The world may never know,” Will returns. It’s not his best comeback, but he was almost asleep. His lack of brain function has nothing to do with watching Nursey cross the room in his boxers. That dryness in his mouth is probably just dehydration. He was out in the heat for a long time today, after all.

Will turns off the flashlight after Nursey’s safely in his bunk, killing his phone and tucking it away. “Night, Nursey,” he says, his voice cracking on a yawn in the middle.

“Night.”

Will’s last coherent thought is that he probably shouldn’t like getting to hear Nursey’s soft and sleepy voice as much as he does, but as he slips down into dreams, he can’t quite make himself care.

_ “Hey, babe.” Nursey lifts up the blanket, making room for Will to slide under. “Cuddle time?” _

_ “Please.” _

_ Will buries his face in Nursey’s neck, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and breathing deeply. It’s been a long, annoying day, but it doesn’t seem to matter much now. Not now that he’s here, close enough to feel Nursey’s heart beating against his own chest, skin to skin. _

_ He spreads his palms flat against Nursey’s back and just breathes. Nursey’s hands rub soothing circles on his shoulders, pulling the tension out with his touch until Will feels like he’s melting into the bed. _

_ After a while, Nursey urges his face up and WIll goes easily, making a pleased little noise when their lips meet. The kiss is soft, too, sweet and gentle. Will sometimes thinks that he could kiss Nursey for hours, explore all the ways their mouths can fit together, all the sounds and tastes to discover. _

_ Their kisses deepen by slow, lazy degrees, lips parting, tongues meeting. Nursey nudges Will over onto his back, pressing him into the mattress, and Will spreads his legs, making room. The damp fabric of his boxers tugs on his cock a little, but then Nursey is pushing them out of the way. _

_ And now there’s nothing between them. They’re kissing again and again, pressed together down the length of their bodies, Nursey’s cock a hard, hot line against his. Will’s hips shift unconsciously, rolling up, and they both moan at the sensation.  _

_ “Yeah,” Nursey breathes. His eyes are bright as he pulls back, searching Will’s face. He grinds down again, smiling softly when Will moans again. “Yeah, baby. Let me hear you.” _

_ Will moans again. He’s not sure if it’s from the feeling of Nursey above him, around him, or from Nursey’s words. _

_ “That’s it.” Nursey ducks his head to kiss Will again. “So good. Tell me what you want, babe.” _

_ Will can’t keep his hands from roaming over Nursey, his chest, his arms, up his back. “You,” he urges, falling easily into the languid rhythm Nursey sets. “Just you. Like this.” _

_ They move together, slick skin on skin, quiet noises and the scent of sex filling the air. Before long, their movements become more urgent, breath coming faster, hearts beating harder. _

_ “Want you to come for me,” Nursey rasps, his voice low and rough in his throat. “Come on, baby, let me see you. So fucking gorgeous when you come--” _

_ Will loses the rest of Nursey’s words as he comes, everything else blotted out by the force of his orgasm. Above him, Nursey keeps moving, the slick friction against Will’s cock drawing his orgasm out until finally Nursey’s body pulls tight and he stills, wet heat spurting between them. _

_ They lie there like that for what could be minutes or hours, until finally Nursey stirs, pressing soft lips just under Will’s jaw. _

_ “Love you,” he murmurs. _

Will wakes to early morning light glowing softly through the window. He feels soft, too, warm and content in a way he can’t remember being in a long time--until the dream he had last night filters into his awareness. 

“Fuck.”

“Mmmngh?” Nursey groans from the lower bunk, his voice thick with sleep.

Will swallows. Hard. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Another unintelligible mumble and the shifting of the sheets is the only reply, and soon silence settles over the room again.

Will glares down at his cock, proudly tenting the boxers that were all he could stand to sleep in with the room so warm. The sane, reasonable part of him says that he needs to climb down the ladder, go to the bathroom, and take care of business. But he can’t escape the feeling that Nursey will wake up, will see his current condition, and somehow know he’s the reason.

It’s completely ridiculous, but Will can’t make himself move. Well, not to get out of bed, anyway. His hand seems to move of it’s own accord, sliding down his chest, fingertips brushing through the thin trail of hairs leading down under his boxers.

Fuck. Will just mouths the word this time, staring up at the ceiling. Is he really doing this? Right here, only feet away from where Nursey is sleeping? His whole body flushes hot, his cock twitching as a shiver races down his spine.

His boxers are shoved down before he can think better of it. Will almost moans at the relief of his hand on his cock, turning it into a quiet inhale at the last minute. He’s so hard he aches; this isn’t going to take long. Not with the mental image of Nursey waking up, maybe hearing Will and getting his hand on his own cock, the two of them jerking off in tandem until they come. 

Or maybe Nursey rolling to his feet and stretching in the sunlight before turning back toward the bed. Will can practically see the way Nursey’s eyes would widen, feel his gaze like a touch as it would move over Will’s body. See the way his tongue would flash as he licks his lips--

His orgasm catches him by surprise, rolling through his body like a riptide, strong and inescapable. He’s pretty sure he stayed quiet; at least, when he can hear over the blood pounding in his ears, there’s no sound from the lower bunk. 

Once his legs feel like they can support him, Will makes his way down the ladder and toward the bathroom to get cleaned up. He only freezes once when Nursey rustles the bedsheets, but he’s only two steps from the bathroom door, so he manages to slip inside before there’s any need for awkward conversation.

For some reason, “how to talk to the guy you have a crush on when you’re covered in jizz from jerking off to him” wasn’t covered in the etiquette class his mom had forced him to take back in middle school. Go figure.

* * *

Derek waits until he hears the shower turn on before uncurling his body. He’d only just had time to roll onto his side to be sure Dex couldn’t see the state he was in, and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been convincing. If Dex knew that he was awake--that he’d been awake--that he heard--

But seriously, how the fuck is he supposed to survive this? Is this his life now? Waking up to hear Dex above him--his traitorous brain interjects a mental picture of Dex actually above him, the weight of his long, muscled body pressing Derek into the bed, and doesn’t he just fucking wish that was how he woke up. But no. 

Waking up to Dex’s soft, strangled gasps, the rustle of his sheets, the almost imperceptible motion of his mattress, the slick sounds of skin on skin--it’s a special, specific form of torture. Because Derek is twenty years old, and he can get hard if the breeze blows the wrong way, let alone if he wakes up to the sound of someone--okay, the guy he’s hardcore crushing on--jerking off. 

Derek doesn’t kid himself. He’s pretty sure Dex is less than completely straight. He’s seen that flash of interest, of attraction, too often for it to be a mistake. With them sharing a room, there are plenty of chances for that mutual attraction to tip over the edge into sexual contact.

But sex is the least of what Derek wants from Dex. Somewhere along the line, around the time they reached a tentative friendship, this crush transitioned from physical attraction into something more. 

All jokes about bisexuals and pansexuals aside, Derek’s greedy. He wants so much with Dex. The sleepy, late-night conversations, the pleasant bickering over their preferred types of coffee. The Mario Kart tournaments, the games and practices where they’re so in sync it feels like Dex is another part of them. And sex, he wants that, of course he wants it. But he wants more. He wants everything

So he jerks off, quick and efficient and almost brutal, to the sounds of Dex in the shower. He thanks whatever deities may be listening that he’s only just finished when Dex emerges wearing just a towel and more water droplets than should be legal, because even so his cock is making a valiant effort to get hard again. And he does his best to ignore the little voice whispering that he should take what he can get.

* * *

It takes Will three tries before he can finally get the words out. “Wanna watch something?”

Nursey looks up from his phone, eyes wide in surprise. “You want to?”

“I mean…” he shrugs. “It’s the last weekend before classes start. We’re gonna be super busy soon. Gotta get that d-man bonding time while we can.”

“Always thinking ahead,” Nursey says, his mouth curling up at the corners. His voice is...fond? It’s not a tone Will has heard directed at him very often, that’s not how they are. But it’s warm and soft and he kind of wants to wrap it around himself like a blanket. “Sure. But we should go raid the kitchen first. I bet there’s still something in the fridge.”

Will can’t help grinning back, determinedly pushing down the little pang of regret. The wondering what would happen if he pushed past the bro-line. If there’s more there. “That’s genius. You’re a genius.”

They make it out the door before Nursey’s hesitating. “Should we ask C if he wants in? Frog bonding time?”

“He and Farms have a date,” Will replies, hoping his voice doesn’t show the little twist in his stomach at the thought that Nursey doesn’t want it to be just the two of them. It’s not like they’re dating, he tells himself fiercely. And even if they were, it would be good to spend time with their friends. Healthy. There’s no reason Nursey should want to be alone with him. The way Will wants to be alone with Nursey.

Somehow their trip to the kitchen turns into leaving the food in their room and slipping out to the Reading Room, passing Nursey’s blown-glass pipe back and forth in the warm twilight until there’s nothing to suck in but ash. Will holds the last of the smoke in his lungs as long as he can, until it tickles at his nose and throat, until he has to cough. He half-expects Nursey to make fun of him for it, the way his buddies back home always did, but Nursey just shoots him a sideways glance.

Will has to look away, because honestly? Those eyes should be illegal. Every time he thinks he knows what they look like, and every time he’s wrong. Gray and green are supposed to be cool colors, but Nursey’s eyes are always so warm. And when he looks up from under his lashes, it’s all Will can do not to melt on the spot. 

“Ready?” he asks, trying to ignore the ache in his chest that’s almost certainly caused by the coughing as he gets to his feet. 

“Ready,” Nursey replies, taking the offered hand and letting Will pull him up. 

Nursey isn’t exactly a lightweight, so they end up almost chest-to-chest, so close Will can feel Nursey’s breath feathering across his lips. He freezes, his hand still in Nursey’s, because this just...keeps happening. They keep falling into each other’s orbits, closer and closer, but neither of them takes that last step.

This time it’s Nursey who steps back first. Will does his best to pretend disappointment isn’t a clenched fist in his gut as they debate back and forth about what to watch before reaching a decision.

It’s for the best, he tells himself as they sit on the bottom bunk, Brooklyn Nine-Nine queued up on Nursey’s laptop. Sure, hooking up with Nursey would make his cock happy--incredibly happy--for a little while. But what they have now, it’s good. It’s delicate, still, fragile, but when Will thinks about the potential for sex to fuck up their friendship--no. It’s not worth it.

And eventually he’ll stop being so hyperaware of Nursey, the warmth of his body, the softness of his smile, the way he can’t talk without moving his hands. He’ll find someone else to be attracted to. They’ll be friends, and that’s all.

Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the lovely comments on Chapter One and for your patience as I struggled to make this chapter what it needed to be. I do need to try and work some on my original fiction, but I want to see this fic through, so we'll see how I manage the balance there.
> 
> If you're also subscribed to This don't even feel like falling, the next chapter for that is like at least 60% and I hope to have it up within the next few days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the first kegster of the school year approaching, Nursey and Dex keep orbiting each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Jenna for letting me use [her incredible art and words](https://angeryginger.tumblr.com/post/163737477967/nurse-would-you-please-put-a-shirt-on-cant) as an inspiration for part of this chapter (you'll know which part when you read it).

“So--”

Derek looks up from his book when nothing else is forthcoming, kicking his feet idly against the mattress. Dex is avoiding eye contact, his cheeks lightly pink in the way that always precedes a full-on blush. 

“So?” Derek prompts after a few minutes. 

Dex rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “So Ollie and Wicky are planning the kegster for this weekend.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, because anyone who’s come within fifty feet of the Haus within the last week knows this. 

Dex goes pinker, his mouth opening and closing in a way that’s incredibly distracting. “We should probably talk about it.”

Derek blinks. “Okay?”

“Ugh,” Dex groans, sinking down to sit cross-legged on the floor and burying his face in his hands. “Fmshkmp.”

“What?” 

“I  _ said--” _ Dex’s whole face is red now, his ears and everything, the color bleeding down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his flannel. He still won’t look at Derek, eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of him. “If you want to hook up, we should have some kind of signal or something. Sock on the door or whatever. So I don’t walk in on, uh…”

It takes Derek a moment to process the words, another to make them make sense, to realize that Dex is--that Dex thinks Derek might want to hook up with someone  _ else.  _

“Oh, uh--” It’s Derek’s turn to cut off mid-sentence under the weight of Dex’s not-gaze. “I, uh, wasn’t planning to--it should be fine.”

Dex snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m not!” Derek insists, stung. Why can’t--they’ve been doing so well, why can’t Dex just believe him, why does he have to make everything so  _ difficult-- _

“Okay, maybe you’re not planning on it this weekend,” Dex allows, the corners of his mouth curling up a little bit before he frowns again. “But eventually--we should just figure it out. Now.”

Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. No one makes him revert back to childish reactions quite like Dex. which is handy for covering the sinking sensation in his stomach. “Fine. What’s something we’re always going to be able to find? What if all the socks are dirty? Do you want to put a dirty sock on the doorknob?” 

“Ugh, no.” Dex makes a sufficiently grossed-out face. “What about one of your seven million hipster scarves? We’re never gonna run out of those. I’m pretty sure they’re breeding.”

“Whatever,” Derek huffs, torn between annoyance at the chirping and the reality that they’re planning for Dex to hook up. With someone else. “Don’t front, Poindexter, you know I look good. Maybe you should try a hipster scarf.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth because, damn, now he wants to see Dex in a soft sweater and softer scarf, wants to use the scarf to reel Dex in for a kiss, wants to wrap both of them in softness and warmth and just fucking bask in it--

“Oh yeah,” Dex says, a bitter note in his voice. “People will just be falling all over themselves to get with me. All I need is a hipster scarf. How did I never realize this?”

Derek’s traitorous heart leaps a little at the gender-neutral noun, because he’s stupid. He’s so stupid, which is the only explanation for the fact that he opens his mouth and says “You don’t need it, but it’d look good,” peeking at Dex from under his lashes.

Dex’s blush goes nuclear, his throat working as he swallows. They stay frozen like that, not moving away but not moving closer, either, until the slam of Chowder’s door, then the shared bathroom door, breaks the spell.

“I, uh, should go see if Bitty needs any help,” Dex mutters, unfolding himself from the floor and escaping out the door before Derek can think of a way to ask him to stay.

But of course he doesn’t want to stay. There’s no reason for him to.

Derek goes back to his book, but the itch under his skin and the swirl of unease in his stomach never quite subside.

* * *

“Good practice, everyone,” Bitty says, cheerfully ignoring the background chorus of groans and grunts except to project his voice over it. “I think another few weeks of these speed drills are really going to up our game.”

The groans increase in volume; Will can’t imagine how anyone ever thought Bitty was going to be an easy captain.

“Dex, Nursey, good job out there; y’all are working your tails off and I appreciate it. Before everybody gets out of here, Ollie and Wicky needed to say something about the kegster.” Bitty makes a sweeping gesture in their direction before settling onto the bench and starting to unlace his skates

The two senior d-men transform instantly from exhausted athletes slumped against their stalls to practically bouncing in their seats with excitement. “First kegster of the year!” Ollie beams around the room almost as brightly as Bitty. “We expect to see all of you there; we’re gonna start this year off with a bang. The theme is toga party, so dress accordingly!”

This announcement is greeted with a mixed bag of louder groans and lackluster cheers. “Toga party?” Whiskey raises a disdainful eyebrow. “Isn’t that kind of on the nose?”

“It’s an homage,” Wicks retorts, “to the classics. I don’t want to hear any complaints; all of you have a fucking bedsheet you can wrap around you.”

“How do you make a sheet into a toga?” Tango asks.

Ollie and Wicks facepalm simultaneously and Will can’t help but exchange a glance with Nursey; that move is almost more impressive than Ransom and Holster’s no-look fist bump. 

“Google is your friend, Tango,” Ollie says with a sigh. “Any other dumb questions, or do you want to get the fuck out of her so you can put some ice on whatever hurts?”

The locker room clears of frogs and tadpoles with almost magical speed. Will wonders idly when he started thinking of the junior team members as the frogs, but that way lies thoughts of graduation and life after college. Fortunately, his quads and calves are tight enough that it's pretty easy to divert his attention to that, kneading his knuckles into the tender spaces as hard as he can to try and loosen them up.

“Here,” Nursey says, shoving his fancy roller stick in Will’s direction.

“Did you wipe this off?” Will asks, but he takes it and applies it to the offending muscles, biting back an inappropriate noise at the deeper pressure.

There’s a longer than usual pause and Nursey’s voice is a little strained when he retorts, “What’s the matter, Poindexter, scared of my cooties?”

“Maybe I just don’t want to smell like your gross hockey sweat,” Will shoots back. He’s tempted to roll his eyes for good measure, but they’re closed, the pressure of the roller so intense and shivery-painful-good on his sore muscles that all he can do is breathe through it, willing them to relax. 

He works his quads over until they feel warm and loose and only a little achy, the kind that lets him know he’s done a good day’s work. The roller feels good on his calves, too, but the angle is awkward and he has to basically fold himself in half to reach the really tender spot.

“You’re going to throw your back out,” Nursey says, his voice half exasperated, half something Will can’t quite identify. “Lay down on your stomach and I’ll get that for you, bro.”

Will hesitates. It feels vaguely dangerous, letting Nursey put his hands on him like this, in the locker room, where anyone could see. But this is basically the definition of platonic physical contact, and if his calves already hurt this badly they’re going to be basically impossible to walk on after he cools down.

“There, was that so hard?” Nursey chides as Will flops down onto his stomach without making eye contact. 

“Just had to decide which was worse, letting you torture me, or trying to walk around like thi--aaah, fuck, fuck!”

Nursey pauses. “Too much?”

Will has to breathe for a second, suck the air in through his nose. He can’t stop the little noises falling out of his mouth, the pressure of the roller just barely on the right side of too much. “No, it’s--fuck, just a little down, yes, right there, fuck--”

“No sex in the locker room!” Ollie and Wicky chorus.

“Fuck off,” Will grates out, but he can feel the heat flashing over his face as he buries it in his arms. If Nursey would let up for even a second, he might have tried to escape into the showers, but Nursey is relentless, chasing the soreness through Will’s muscles like he can feel it under his own skin.

“Chyeah,” Nursey drawls, never pausing his movements. “Remind me who was doing a dramatic reenactment of the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally in here last week?”

Somebody makes a scoffing noise, but thankfully for Will’s resolution to not punch any teammates this year, no one else comments, maybe because he’s able to keep his noises muffled against his forearm. Maybe Nursey glares them into submission. Will doesn’t know, nor does he care, as long as Nursey doesn’t stop the steady pressure of the roller, the occasional pause and dig of his thumb into an especially tender knot.

After some measureless time, Will is pretty sure that his entire body is going to melt onto the floor like candle wax. He forces himself to lift his head and say “Think I’m good now,” blinking in the bright light of the now-empty locker room. 

“Okay,” Nursey says, his hands falling away.

Will shoves himself up to a sitting position, grateful that he hadn’t had time to get his jockstrap or shorts off first because the last thing he needs is for Nursey to see how much he enjoyed that very platonic massage. 

He really needs to get himself under control, because now he’s imagining that maybe Nursey’s voice is a little rough, like he’s as affected as Will by all the touching. He’s imagining that Nursey’s hands were slow to leave him, like Nursey didn’t want to stop touching him, and seriously, what kind of flowery pining bullshit is that? 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I needed--thanks.”

“Anytime.” Nursey’s voice is breezy and “chill” and everything Will hates because it tells him nothing about what Nursey is actually thinking or feeling.

He looks over and immediately regrets it. Knowing that Nursey was massaging his legs wearing nothing but those ungodly tight compression shorts? 

Not. Helping.

Will’s brain maybe shorts out a little bit, because he gets stuck just staring dumbly at Nursey, probably with his mouth hanging slightly open like the dumb hick he knows he is. Long enough for Nursey to smirk and hook his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, drawl, “Waiting for the free show?”

He tears his eyes away, face heating even further, but not before he catches a glimpse that’s going to be burned into his brain forever, the widening trail of dark hair revealed as Nursey peels the shorts off.

At least the discomfort of his cock straining against the jockstrap distracts him a little bit. Long enough for Nursey to finish stripping and head off to the showers. Long enough for Will to think about the smell of fish sitting too long in the sun, the sting and burn of split knuckles, the cold wash of panic when his bedroom door swings open unexpectedly. Long enough that he won’t embarrass himself when he peels off his gear and heads into the shower himself.

And if he can feel the phantom touch of Nursey’s hands on his skin for the rest of the day, well--

\--the bathroom doors in the Haus lock. Thank fuck.

* * *

Derek has no excuse, really. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid while he’s doing it. But that itchy, shaky feeling won’t go away; it gets worse with every sideways look Dex gives him, every reminder that once again, Derek’s attractive, but not enough. Never enough.

So when he takes his laundry down to the basement, he strips out of his jeans and shirt, throwing them in the washer with the rest of his dirty clothes. It’s kind of nice, just chilling on the bed in his boxer briefs while he waits for the first load to finish. Comfortable. Besides, it’s his room too. 

The look on Dex’s face when he gets back from class is priceless. A part of Derek enjoys it--the flaming red of Dex’s blush, the way his eyes flicker towards Derek and away, like he can’t help himself. But it doesn’t calm his frustration, doesn’t soothe the jittery restlessness vibrating through him. 

“Did I miss the clothing-optional memo?” Dex finally chirps weakly, kicking his shoes off and digging in his backpack, refusing to make eye contact for any length of time.

Derek waits until Dex’s eyes have flickered back to him before shrugging lazily. “Laundry day. You know how it is.”

Dex rolls his eyes. “Nurse, you have seven million shirts and pants and hipster sweaters. They can’t all be dirty.”

“I have to share the closet with your flannel,” Derek shoots back. “Everything I have  _ here _ is dirty.”

The timer on his phone goes off before Dex can retort. Derek rolls off his bunk and heads down to the basement, taking vicious, sharp-edged satisfaction in the weight of Dex’s eyes on him as he walks out the door.

He’s still riding that edge when he gets back up the stairs with the basket of clean laundry. For once, his body obeys him, and he folds gracefully down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Ignoring the way Dex is gaping at him from the desk, he starts to fold his clothes. Maybe, possibly, flexing a little bit more than absolutely necessary. A little bit. What’s the fucking point in having a hockey body if you don’t show it off, right?

He knows he’s won when Dex says, his rough voice half-strangled, half-pleading, “Nurse, would you please put a shirt on?”

“Can’t, Poindexter,” Derek says, never pausing his folding--or his flexing. “It’s laundry day.”

“You literally have a pile of clean shirts right there,” Dex protests, the balance tilting more toward pleading. “ _ Please. _ ”

Derek sucks in a slow breath, humming to himself like he’s considering it, then sets the neatly folded shirt on top of the stack. “Mmmmmmmmmmnope.”

He expects Dex to leave, to storm out, or maybe to wrestle him into some clothes. Either would be a victory, in a way. At least Dex would have to do  _ something.  _ Would have to react. 

But he doesn’t. He keeps his stubborn ginger ass planted in the desk chair through Derek’s slow folding and increasingly ridiculous flexing and twisting and stretching. He stays while Derek makes way, way too many trips to the dresser and the closet. 

“Want to watch something?” Dex asks once the clothes have all disappeared into their respective homes. He keeps his eyes firmly on Derek’s, his cheeks still pinker than the strawberry cheesecake Bitty made last week. 

“I dunno.” Derek is a terrible person, because he can’t resist shrugging, watching Dex’s eyes follow the motion helplessly, watching his face flush darker. “I’m kinda wound up. I don’t want anything with like, drama or anything. Even like comedy drama. Too much right now, y’know?”

He doesn’t expect Dex to smile, wide and pleased, and pull out his laptop. “Got your back. I saw this list today with like, soothing shows. Ever heard of Slow TV?”

Derek shakes his head, still kind of dazed by the impact of that smile. “No?”

“Apparently it’s a thing in Norway. They like, film a live event and you can watch the whole thing as it happens. They have some on Netflix. C’mon, put some clothes on and we can watch it.”

Derek wavers, but the self-destructive impulse to keep pushing until Dex leaves is small and muted, drowned out by the fact that Dex actually wants to do something with him. The smile Dex gives him after he pulls on a t-shirt and sweats doesn’t hurt, either.

“Not the salmon fishing,” Derek says once they’re situated on his bunk, Netflix search screen open on the computer in front of them. “I know it’s like, the song of your people or whatever--”

Dex rolls his eyes and pushes the laptop a little more toward Derek. “Fine, you pick then.”

“Train ride,” Derek decides after perusing all the options. “Holy shit, seven hours?”

“Told you,” Dex says. “We don’t have to watch the whole thing tonight, obviously.”

It’s Derek’s turn to roll his eyes. “Obviously.” 

He can’t put much weight behind the snark, though, his eyes drawn to the screen as the point of view starts to move down train tracks, people standing on the siding waving as it picks up speed. It’s soothing, and he finds himself slumping into Dex’s side as the tension seeps out of his muscles. 

Dex doesn’t complain, or shy away from the contact, just takes his weight uncomplainingly. If he tries, Derek can almost pretend that Dex wants him there, wants to be here in this quiet moment, this small soft space, together. That he wants this with Derek. 

Almost.

* * *

“How do I look?” Nursey asks.

Will looks up from trying to make sure his bedsheet toga actually covers him enough for decency and loses his breath, his mouth going dry. Nursey stands in the bathroom doorway, hands spread slightly as if to say,  _ Well? _ It’s a question Will can’t answer, not without laying himself bare, showing everything he’s feeling.

The pale gold sheet draped over Nursey’s shoulder and wrapped kilt-like around his waist makes the rich brown of his skin seem to glow with the contrast between the two. Or maybe not just the contrast; when Will looks closer, all of Nursey’s bare skin seems to shimmer and sparkle slightly, from his arms to his chest to his abs to the expanse of thighs and knees and calves. 

“Is that body glitter?” Will’s voice is hoarse and breathless and it’s the least surprising thing that’s happened to him all day. Of course he can barely talk when faced with--all that. All of Nursey.

Nursey nods. “Yeah, Ford brought it over when I asked her for eyeliner tips.”

Will’s eyes snap up to Nursey’s face, thankfully distracted from the miles and miles of muscle and skin on display. Not that this is any better for Will’s peace of mind, because yeah, Nursey’s wearing eyeliner, sharp wings and thick black lines, more shimmery gold on his eyelids and under his eyebrows to match the hoops in his ears, the chain around his neck. Nursey’s gorgeous, this is a fact of life, but Will has learned, for his own self-preservation not to look, not to see. And this, now, is the perfect example of why--Will is just not prepared for Nursey’s beauty, the way it steals his breath and his voice and his balance.

Belatedly, he remembers the question Nursey had asked in the beginning. “You look--” Will has to tear his eyes away, clear his throat before he can put together any kind of coherent response. “You look like you should be a statue in a museum or something.”

Even out of the corner of his eye he can see the way Nursey lights up at the compliment, can feel his own face heat in sympathy and embarrassment over how transparent he’s being. “Thanks, bro,” Nursey says, ducking his head a little, fingers toying with the fabric of his toga. “You look ‘swawesome, too.”

Will snorts, finally losing his grip on the slippery fabric of his own plain white sheet. He’s vaguely aware that a year ago he would have been raging to try and overcome the feeling of ridiculousness.  Standing there in nothing but his boxers and a sheet hanging over his shoulder, with Nursey looking like, well, himself, it would be so easy to retreat into anger, to insecurity. 

Instead he takes a deep breath, lets it go, spreads his hands in supplication. “Help?”

The way Nursey’s face softens, the warmth of his smile, makes it worth it, soothes the last edge of irritation out of Will’s muscles. 

“Yeah, got your back.” Nursey crosses the room in a few steps, gathering the fabric deftly together in one hand. “Any particular style you were trying to go for here?”

Will shrugs, trying to ignore the little brushes of Nursey’s fingertips against his skin. “Anything that doesn’t get me arrested for public indecency if I have to go outside. Or doesn’t have Ollie and Wicky making me do penalty shots for not dressing appropriately. Other than that, I don’t care, so go nuts.”

Nursey’s eyes sparkle wickedly when he looks up from his work. “You may live to regret those words, Poindexter.”

“As long as all the important bits are covered, I don’t care,” Will retorts, trying to pretend he isn’t shivering a little as one of Nursey’s hands slides along his stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers. “Just fix it, please.”

“Okay, just hold still,” Nursey says absently. 

Will could have anticipated how torturous this would be if he’d taken two seconds to think about it. Nursey’s right there, in his space, glowing and gorgeous, so close that Will can smell the faint hint of whatever expensive bullshit is in his cologne--fine, he knows fucking well it’s sandalwood, that’s how fucking gone he is on Derek Nurse. Nursey’s arms are around him at least half the time, wrapping and draping the fabric, Nursey’s hands rough and calloused on his skin. 

After an endless, measureless time that’s probably very short by any objective standard, Nursey looks up with a pleased smile that Will can’t help but return. “Almost there. Want me to pin it to your boxers so you don’t lose it?”

“Please,” Will says fervently.

“Gonna have to get my hand under there so I don’t pin it to you instead,” Nursey warns, his eyes dropping to where he’s holding the fabric in place. “That okay?”

Will swallows, hard. “Yeah.” His voice is lower than before, softer, but he can’t help it.

Thankfully, Nursey doesn’t hesitate, but his speed is a double-edged sword. Will doesn’t have enough time to anticipate, but he also doesn’t have time to brace himself before Nursey’s hand is sliding under the elastic waist of his boxers, grazing Will’s hipbone, shifting slightly as he tries to pin the layers of fabric together.

Will closes his eyes and thinks desperately about the stickiness of the floor after a kegster, the smell of the locker room, having to tell Bitty that Betsy wasn’t repairable. Anything to keep his stupid cock from reacting to the fact that Nursey has his hand  _ literally _ down Will’s shorts right now.

“Done,” Nursey announces, finally, finally pulling his hands free and stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Hmmm. Not bad, if I do say so myself.”

The eyeroll is instinctive at this point, but it also gives Will a chance to recover his equilibrium. At least until he looks down and sees exactly how much of him is left uncovered by Nursey’s creation. The fabric wrapped around his waist is only barely long enough to cover his boxers and the drape over his shoulder leaves almost his entire chest bare. There’s more pasty freckled skin on display than anyone would ever want to see. Ever.

Before he has time to complain, though, Nursey’s hand is circling his wrist, pulling him toward the bathroom. “Come on, Poindexter,” Nursey says, not looking back. “Body glitter time. Gotta make you look good if you want to pick up tonight.”

Will bites back a protest before it can pass his lips. If anyone in this room is picking up tonight, he’s fairly sure it’s not going to be him. But he lets Nursey lead him into the bathroom, stands obediently as Nursey runs the puffy brush over his cheekbones, his collarbones, the tips of his shoulders and down the centerline of his chest.

“There,” Nursey says finally, setting the brush aside and turning Will to face the mirror. “Check us out.”

For just a moment Will lets himself pretend that Nursey’s hands are on his shoulders because he wants them to be there. That neither of them is going to pick up tonight because when they’re tired of the people and the music and the booze, they’re going to come back up the stairs together, fall asleep together. 

He’s saved from his stupid, pining fantasy by the sound of the music starting up downstairs, bass notes vibrating through the floors, up through his feet until Will swears he can feel it in his bones, inside his chest.

“Showtime,” Nursey says with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes for the first time all night as he swirls out of the bathroom door and across their room. “Don’t forget the scarf, ‘kay? Get it, Poindexter!”

Will follows him down the stairs, trying to figure out how to protest, to say that he isn’t the one planning to hook up, but by the time he hits the bottom of the stairs Nursey is already downing a shot and accepting a cup of tub juice from Wicks. The song changes and Nursey weaves his way between people onto the dance floor, his body moving to the beat, somehow managing not to spill any of his drink or bump into anyone.

“Here you go, man.” Ollie holds out a cup of tub juice, but Will waves it away in favor of a beer from the SMH-only cooler next to him. 

“Gotta pace myself,” he says, his eyes still following Nursey’s movements through the dance floor. “Looks like I’m on Nursey Patrol tonight.”

Ollie and Wicks both nod sagely. “At least tonight you’ll just have to drag him upstairs, not halfway across campus.”

Will nods back, moving along the wall far enough that it’s impossible to make conversation over the music. He settles in and takes a sip of his beer, ignoring the slight sense of unease in his stomach. 

It wasn’t a lie, he tells himself. Just because nobody has already put him on Nursey Patrol doesn’t mean Nursey doesn’t need it. Honestly, Bitty’s probably going to find him and assign him to watch over his d-partner any minute now. This is just--accepting his fate. He can just hang out here, holding up a wall, nursing--ha!--a beer, and watching Nursey dance, which isn’t exactly a hardship.

It’s an eternal mystery, how Nursey can be the kind of person that can and has literally tripped over air before and still be so good on the ice, still move like that on the dance floor. Will has the Nursey Patrol excuse--nobody wants a repeat of  [ the smarties vomit incident ](http://geniusorinsanity.tumblr.com/post/163719546038/things-nursey-did-to-prompt-the-nursey-patrol-and) \--so it won’t seem weird that he keeps watching Nursey. Which is good, because Will can’t bring himself to look away. 

Nursey’s already covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and between that and the body glitter he just fucking glows under the fairy lights, every dip and curve of muscle highlighted with gold. Will watches, mesmerized, as the toga hem rides slowly up the flexing muscle of Nursey’s thighs. It takes a determined effort for Will to keep himself from speculating on what, exactly, Nursey has on--or doesn’t have on--under that sheet, given the amount of leg that’s already bared. 

But that way lies madness. Fortunately for his continued peace of mind, Bitty wriggles free of the crowd, breathless and glowing, and slides in next to Will in time to save him from himself.

“Everything okay, honey?” 

Will takes a minute to school his face to casual blandness. “Yeah, sure. Just Nursey Patrol. You know.”

Bitty opens his mouth, pauses, then shakes his head. “Well, better you than me. You want another beer or anything?”

“Yeah, maybe one more.” Will meant it more to distract Bitty than anything else, but his beer actually is empty--how long has it been empty? Was he seriously so distracted mooning over Nursey that he didn’t notice?

“Be right back,” Bitty says, disappearing into the crowd and reappearing a few moments later with a beer for Will and a bottle of water for himself.

Will takes the beer with a nod of thanks, but instead of heading back out onto the dance floor, Bitty leans against the wall next to him, draining half the water bottle in one long swallow. Will studiously ignores him, his eyes finding Nursey again as if magnetically drawn to him. 

Nursey’s still dancing, of course, now happily sandwiched between Chowder and Farmer. Will has to fight down a surge of jealousy at the sight of Chowder’s hands on Nursey’s waist, Farmer’s arms looped around his neck. It doesn’t mean anything; Will knows it doesn’t mean anything, except that he’s too cowardly to do what he wants. Too scared to take a risk. Too afraid that if he crosses the floor and pulls Nursey into his arms that Nursey will laugh and pull away. 

Somehow Will gets lost enough in his thoughts that he zones out, loses track of time and what’s happening. Because the next thing he knows, Nursey is standing in front of him, with Chowder and Farmer supporting him on each side.

“He’s ready for bed,” Farmer says cheerfully, managing to transfer Nursey into Will’s grasp through some sort of move that’s too fast to see. Nursey leans against Will’s chest with the force of the motion, Will’s hands coming up automatically to rest on his back and his waist, to hold him up. “Time to earn your keep, Poindexter.”

It’s a long, long moment before Nursey regains his balance, a measureless time when his chest expands against Will’s with every breath that blows warm against Will’s neck, the softness of his curls brushing against Will’s temple. But even once he’s standing on his own he doesn’t pull away, stays closer in Will’s space than he usually does when he’s sober.

“You done?” Will asks Nursey as Chowder and Farmer pull Bitty back out onto the dance floor.

“Yeah.” Even as close as they still are, Will is more reading his lips than hearing the word. 

Will shrugs, draining the last of his beer. “Okay, let’s get you upstairs.”

It’s not like this is the first time he’s slung Nursey’s arm around his shoulder and hauled him up a staircase. Hell, Nursey’s freshman dorm room was on the fourth floor, and hadn’t that been fun to navigate with all two-hundred-plus pounds of Nursey as basically dead weight. 

But this time feels different. Maybe it’s that he’s not just dropping Nursey off in a generic dorm room, but in their shared space, the place where Will is going to sleep later tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re so much closer now than they’ve ever been before, in such a better place.  

Maybe it’s the fact that they’re both shirtless, bare skin pressed together all down their sides, warm and falsely intimate, and Will wants it to be real so badly it aches, deep in his chest, with every step they take up the stairs. 

The trip to their room has never gone so fast and so slowly. All too soon, Will is settling Nursey on his bunk, guiding him down to keep him from hitting his head. 

“Oh shit,” Nursey says, staring helplessly down at his feet. “My shoes.”

Will follows his gaze, noticing for the first time the l [ eather straps criss-crossing up Nursey’s calves ](https://www.amazon.com/Roman-Sandal-Mens-Medium-10-11/dp/B000HUZRXI/) , tied behind his knee in a knot that there’s no chance Nursey is sober enough to undo. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he says, sinking to his knees with a sigh.

The knot is complicated enough that it takes a minute for the reality of his position, kneeling between Nursey’s spread legs, to hit him. When he realizes, Will can’t help but suck in a breath, keeping his eyes firmly on his work. Nursey’s skin is warm and soft under his fingers, slightly indented when the straps come loose. Will rubs at the marks instinctively for a second before pulling his fingers back and sliding the sole of the sandal free, his eyes catching on--

“Nursey? Are your toenails painted?”

“Mmmm.” When Will glances up, Nursey’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly curved. “I like it. Makes me feel pretty. Soft.”

The polish is definitely pretty, a soft green with gold flecks that reminds Will of nothing so much as Nursey’s eyes. He drags his eyes away, reaching for the knot on the other sandal. 

“Dex?” Nursey’s voice is soft, hesitant. “I thought you were going to pick up tonight?”

“I never said that,” Dex replies, unwinding the second set of straps. “Figured you would; I was going to beg Chowder to sleep on his floor when I got sexiled.”

Nursey hums softly, sinking back to lie on his bed. “Nah. Didn’t wanna. Not if…”

Will waits, rubbing absently at the indentations on Nursey’s leg, but no more seems to be forthcoming. “Not if?” he finally prompts, helping Nursey swing his legs up onto the bed.

Nursey rolls onto his side, yawning. “Not if it’s not you.”

He’s snoring softly before Will can figure out how to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read, left kudos, commented, and subscribed. I'm going to try and get this wrapped up as soon as possible because I'm going to be focusing on my YA novel in October. I'm always willing to chat about things [on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is I, with a new chapter! It's a Thursday miracle!!!
> 
> Just a heads up that this chapter deals with Nursey being genderfluid. I myself am not genderfluid, despite some gender-nonconforming traits. I did my best to write that part of the chapter with respect and love, but if I've done anything in this chapter that's wrong or upsetting, please let me know if you can so I can change it. Big thanks to Shelly for letting me crib off of [her genderfluid Nursey fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11550624) for inspiration

They don’t talk about it. 

Will lies awake half the night, tossing and turning, dreaming fitfully. Sometimes he’s confessing his feelings to Nursey, falling into bed in a rom-com style embrace that quickly becomes X-rated. Sometimes Nursey laughs in his face, walking away from him to hook up with other, more attractive people. Either way, Will wakes up uncomfortable. 

He finally gives up around six in the morning, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face with a silent groan. Since he hadn’t had any interest in heading back to the kegster after settling Nursey into bed, he actually got a reasonable amount of sleep, even if he doesn’t feel like it. 

Sliping out of his bunk as carefully and quietly as he can, Will pulls on sweatpants and a hoodie over his t-shirt and boxers. Carrying his shoes, he holds his breath as he closes the bedroom door behind him, slowly easing the doorknob over until the latch clicks quietly into place. He, but there’s no sound from Nursey.

Padding quietly down the stairs in his sock feet, Will doesn’t put his shoes on until he’s safely outside the back door, sitting on the steps in the early dark. The air is chilly, even though it’s only September, but it’s the restlessness under his skin more than the bite in the breeze that has Will setting off for Annie’s at a run.

Maybe some caffeine will help him wake up all the way. At the very least, he can bring Nursey back a coffee. Because d-men take care of each other. Not because Will wants to take care of Nursey, specifically. Not because he’s addicted to the way Nursey’s eyes light up when he smiles, really smiles, instead of just his fake chill quirk of the lips. Not because he can’t stop hearing those five words, over and over.

“Not if it’s not you.”

Surely Nursey didn’t mean what Will thinks he means. Or--or maybe he did. Sure, there have been moments since they moved into the Haus. Moments where Will thought, just for a minute, that something might happen. But nothing ever did, so he assumed he was imagining things. Wishful fucking thinking.

Except last night, Nursey said, implied, whatever, that he wanted to hook up with Will? So maybe, somehow, Will has managed to slip into some alternate universe where Derek Nurse is actually attracted to him. Maybe. Or maybe it was just the tub juice talking. 

Will forces himself to think calmly, logically about this, his thoughts running ahead of his feet as they hit the ground. Okay, so Nursey said he didn’t want to hook up if it wasn’t with Will. Logically, then, he’s somewhat attracted to Will. Maybe all Will has to do is make a move. Maybe it can be that simple.

But then what?

Will’s steps slow to a walk as he approaches the last corner before Annie’s, but his mind races even further ahead. So yeah. Maybe it can be that simple. Maybe he could have sex, probably really spectacular, mind-blowing sex, with Nursey.

But when the sex was over--and all sex, no matter how amazing, eventually has to come to an end--what happens then? Not even in this universe where Nursey apparently wants to hook up with him can Will imagine it happening more than once. Do they pretend it never happened? Neither of them are that good at pretending, really. 

Will pulls open the door to Annie’s, nodding at the sleepy-eyed barista.

So it’ll be over and it’ll be awkward. Difficult for two people who share a room to circle around the fact that they once had sex. Tricky for d-partners to avoid the elephant in the room, or on the rink. Impossible for Will to stop thinking about it, to keep from wanting more.

He gives the barista their orders without thinking about it, Nursey’s stupid hipster coffee with its seven million adjectives rolling off his tongue automatically.

He’s too preoccupied to even muster up the usual levels of irritation over Nursey’s pretentious coffee-flavored milk concoction, because he is  _ fucked _ . This is bad. This is so bad. He doesn’t just have a crush on Nursey; he isn’t just hopelessly attracted to an incredibly hot human being who might have been instrumental in helping Will figure out that he’s not actually straight. This isn’t something that Will can get out of his system with one sexual encounter.

He wants more. He wants everything with Nursey

Shit.

“Sir?” The barista’s tone indicates that maybe they’ve been trying to get Will’s attention for awhile now. 

“Sorry,” he says automatically, dropping a couple of dollars in the tip jar by way of real apology before taking the steaming cups from the counter where they’re waiting. 

He shoulders his way carefully out the door and into the cool morning air. He can’t run back to the Haus without scalding himself on the coffee. That’s probably for the best, though. Walking back will give him time to figure out what to do. How to handle this. 

How to turn Nursey down, not that he ever imagined that was a thing he’d have to think about. But Will knows himself. He wants so much more with Nursey than a random hookup, and he’s not in the habit of torturing himself with things he can’t have, despite all available evidence to the contrary. 

It’ll be fine. Nursey’s a good guy, he’s not going to be a dick if Dex says no. Sure, it’ll be a little awkward for awhile, but if they could get from freshman year to where they are now? Sharing a room without murder, Will picking up Nursey’s hipster coffee with only the tiniest of eyerolls, getting dressed together for kegsters?

They’ll be fine. 

Will braces himself as he toes off his shoes just inside the back door, moving through the sleeping Haus as quietly as possible. A part of him, a small, cowardly part, wants to leave the coffee and sneak away, avoid the conversation that’s coming. But Will has spent a lot of time not backing down from anything, so he sets the cups on the desk and settles into the chair, sipping his own coffee and valiantly attempting not to watch Nursey sleep.

Nursey sniffs the air as he wakes, making grabby hands in Will’s direction before his eyes are even fully open. Will passes the coffee over without speaking, waiting as Nursey drinks it down, nerves roiling in his stomach. 

He waits while Nursey settles back in his blankets with a grumbling noise, clearly unwilling to get out of bed yet, caffeine or no caffeine. 

He waits through the post-kegster cleanup and the hangover brunch Bitty makes for them.

He does homework and waits, plays Mario Kart and waits, watches Stranger Things and waits.

Will doesn’t fully accept until he’s settled into his bunk that night that Nursey isn’t going to say anything. Isn’t going to bring it up. Maybe he doesn’t remember. Maybe he’s embarrassed and hoping Will doesn’t remember. Maybe it was all a horrible joke but Nursey was too tired to really drive it home before he fell asleep--okay, probably not, but Will’s mind is running wild right now.

Either way, it seems pretty clear that unless Will pushes the issue, nobody’s going to bring it up. Which is fine. Will wasn’t looking forward to that conversation anyway. 

He turns over and punches his pillow viciously, staring at the wall like it can save him from another restless night.

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

Derek hates this. It took a long time for him to recognize what he needed, to figure out what would soothe the vicious knot of anxiety, the feeling of wrongness twisting in his gut, And as much as he’s sure, as he tells himself that he’s sure the Haus is a safe place, that his team will accept him, that they have his back--

He’s not sure.

He hates it.

But that hits a little too close to home, to hating himself, so he has to take a breath, to back up, to clarify, even in if just his own head. Because he can wish all he wants for things to be simpler, but that way lies madness and the endless spiral of self-loathing that’s all but impossible to pull out of. So.

He allows himself a moment to wish for a world where he doesn’t have to worry if the people he cares about most will hate him forever if they really know him, who he really is. Another moment to be angry that world doesn’t exist, not here, not now. Then he takes three deep breaths, holding them in his lungs for a long moment before slowly pushing them out, letting them go. He only has a couple of hours before Dex’s last class ends; he needs to make the most of it.

Earrings first. Not the studs, or the small hoops that are completely deniable. No, today calls for the gold chandelier-style earrings, French hooks sliding smoothly through his earlobes, a comforting weight of gold and crystals cascading down to brush against his neck.

Lip gloss next, a soft, deniable pink. Derek leans over the bathroom counter to get closer to the mirror, keeping his movements slow and precise. Once he’s finished, wand returned to the gloss and the cap screwed back on, he adds the eyeliner, narrow, barely noticeable around his lash line, but there.

When he can stop focusing in so tightly and take in his entire face, the sick knot inside of him starts to loosen. It’s a surprise every time, the relief of it, like setting down a weight he’d forgotten he was carrying.

Exchanging his sweater and jeans for yoga pants and a v-neck t-shirt the same pink as his lip gloss helps, too. He’s not sure if it’s the more pliable clothing or the mental comfort, but it’s like the first full breath he’s taken today.

He curls up on his bunk with the small plastic tub he keeps carefully hidden under the bed. The smell of the nail polish remover is familiar, stinging his nostrils a bit, but a comfort all its own for the associations, the memories of Farah carefully removing the last traces of polish before painting his nails again. His body knows that he only does this in a safe place. A home. 

The chipped remnants of the green polish from the kegster comes off easily, quickly. Derek tosses the wet, stained cotton balls toward the trash can, does a quiet fist pump of victory when they sail in without touching the sides.

Turning his attention back to the box, he considers his options. There’s the opalescent pink, so pale as to be almost invisible except in the right light, the gold-flecked green he wore for the kegster, a midnight blue so dark it’s almost black, and more collected here and there when a color catches his eye. But his eyes keep coming back to the red, the deep, undeniable crimson that he’s only ever worn in New York. 

The thing is, there are so many plausible ways he could explain it away, if anyone even asked. This is Samwell; a guy wearing red nail polish would be assumed to be a display of school spirit by pretty much anyone who saw it. If someone thought otherwise, well. They’d probably keep their mouth shut. 

But Derek doesn’t  _ want _ to deny it, to pretend. He’s so tired of hiding this part of himself, of pretending. Sure, at Andover it was a question of survival, the need to keep his head down, to conform. But here, now--he’s tired of wondering. Of not knowing.

He’s tired of being afraid.

Derek twists the bottle lid free with one hand and starts laying the polish down with slow, sure strokes. Nail polish is far from permanent, as declarations of self go, but the first strip of red across his thumbnail feels like a line in the sand. A battle cry.

Maybe he’ll change his mind later, wipe it away like it never was. But maybe--maybe he won’t. 

Maybe he’ll be brave.

* * *

Will takes the steps two at a time, whistling a little under his breath. It’s Friday afternoon, his last class got canceled, and for once, by some miracle of the cosmos, he’s caught up on his homework. The only thing that could make this day any better--he pushes that thought away before it fully forms. Life is good. He needs to focus on what he’s got, not make himself miserable wishing for things he can’t have.

Their bedroom door is closed. Will can’t help smiling as he clears the top of the stairs, because Nursey finally remembered to leave it closed like he asked. The feeling of well-being carries him from the stairs to their door and inside, his backpack on the hook just inside the door along with his snapback.

He stutters to a halt then, his conscious mind catching up with his senses, with the way that Nursey went still and frozen on his bunk as soon as the door opened, tensed like a deer in the headlights. It takes him a moment more to pick up the small details; the sparkling gold earrings dangling from Nursey’s ears, the slick pink shine on his lips, the bottle of nail polish balanced on his thigh that matches the red on his nails.

Will’s not stupid, his struggles with CS classes notwithstanding, and he’s not ignorant either, not after two years spent educating himself as much as possible. This--this is almost satisfying, the last piece of the puzzle slotting into place, giving him a recognizable answer. 

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his movements slow and unthreatening. Normal. “Class got canceled. It’s a Friday miracle.”

“Nice.” Nursey’s tone isn’t quite right, a sharp, brittle edge that Will hasn’t heard since freshman year, but he meets Will’s eyes almost defiantly and paints a slow line of red across one of his nails. “Got homework?”

Will shakes his head, trying to maintain eye contact, not to stare, mesmerized as the polish flows together with each stroke of the brush. “All caught up. Told you it was a Friday miracle. Want to finish Stranger Things?”

Nursey blinks at him, half-confused, half-defensive, like Will’s done something unexpected. “Sure? Do you--want to wait til I’m done, or--?”

“I can start it if you want.” Will shrugs. Something tells him that direct references to what’s happening might be too much for Nursey right now, might shatter the fragile peace between them so badly that it can’t ever be repaired. But at the same time--he knows what it’s like to have people look past the parts of you they don’t like. He doesn’t want to do that. Not to Nursey. “You kinda have your hands full at the moment.”

“Yeah,” Nursey mumbles, his eyes firmly fixed on his hands. “That’d be cool.”

In a lot of ways it’s just like any other Friday afternoon, although once the season really gets started these calm ones are going to be few and far between. But even with only a few weeks of the semester under their belt, this is already a routine for them, soothing in its familiarity.

Will gets his laptop and logs into Netflix. “Here?” he asks, looking up at Nursey. “Or do you wanna hook it to the TV for maximum impact?”

Nursey hums consideringly. “Here. But with the lights on.”

“You got it.”

Will doesn’t hesitate when he slides onto his usual place on Nursey’s bunk, careful not to bump the leg where the nail polish bottle is sitting. “Ready?”

“Go for it,” Nursey says absently. To anyone who doesn’t know him, he’d look relaxed, one knee tucked close to his chest as he starts painting his toenails. But Will knows better, can see the subtle tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself apart instead of slumping into Will’s side like he usually does. Will’s chest aches just thinking about it, but Nursey isn’t an oven or a dryer or a motor. Nursey isn’t something he knows how to fix, to help.

But he wants to.

“I like the color,” he says quietly as the episode buffers. “It looks good on you.”

Nursey clears his throat, glancing over at Will from under his lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Will infuses his tone with as much sincerity as he can muster, letting himself actually look at Nursey: the gold dripping from his ears, the glossy coat on his mouth, the way his yoga pants hug the muscled curves of his legs. “I mean, you always look good, but--this is a good look on you.”

He has to look away before he embarrasses himself; there’s a certain level of bro-code involving the ignoring of random boners, but Will isn’t sure how much that applies to their weird roommates/d--partners/maybe more dynamic. He’s looking for long enough to see the tiny smile that curls up the corner of Nursey’s mouth, though. But then the show finally loads and they’re back in the weird shit happening in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Thanks,” Will says when the episode ends and the next one starts loading, when Nursey has tucked the closed bottle of nail polish away in a small box Will’s never seen before. When he’s eased into Will’s space like the tactile octopus-wannabe that he actually is, leaning slightly on Will’s shoulder.

“What for?” Nursey asks, fiddling with one of his earrings absently.

Their voices are quiet, the bottom bunk an intimate, shadowed space. “For trusting me,” Will murmurs, watching Nursey’s face out of the corner of his eye.

Nursey sucks in a breath, his body tensing for a second before relaxing again. “Yeah, well. You’ve got my back. Right?”

“Right.” Will rushes to confirm it so fast that he almost trips over his tongue. “I’ve got you.”

A nod is the only overt reply he gets, but Nursey leans into him just a little more, tucking in tight until there’s no space between them. 

They watch until the end of the season, both of them a little misty-eyed over the conclusion, but then Will’s stomach growls audibly and they both laugh. 

“We need food,” Nursey declares, uncurling himself from the bunk. He hesitates for a minute before unhooking the earrings and tucking them away in one of his drawers.

“You don’t have to,” Will says quietly, before he can talk himself out of it. 

Nursey pauses, then closes the drawer gently. “I know. But. Baby steps. Besides, they were starting to hurt my ears. I’m not used to wearing them for long.”

“Okay.” Will closes the laptop, swings his feet to the floor. “Pizza or Thai?”

“Mmmm, Thai,” Nursey says, licking his lips. “But we should see if Bitty has anything we can scrounge while we wait.”

Will grins. “You read my mind.”

They clatter down the stairs together, Will subtly braced for anything that might be said, but after a few minutes he feels ashamed of himself for doubting his teammates, his Hausmates. If anyone notices the nail polish, the slick shine of Nursey’s lips, no one says so. It’s another Friday evening at the Haus. Except for the way that Will’s always a little on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wonders if this is what Nursey feels like all the time.

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

Derek thinks he’s imagining things at first. But the longer it goes on, the more sure he is. Dex is being weird.

It started after the kegster, after the day Dex walked in on him painting his nails. Derek doesn’t want that to be the case, but there’s no arguing with facts. Dex was so amazing that day, so fucking perfect. Derek hates to even think it. But.

But ever since, Dex has been--off. Just a little. Probably no one else has noticed it. Probably Derek wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t sharing a room, if he hadn’t gotten an up-close and personal introduction to the many moods of William J. Poindexter. Nobody else has said anything, anyway. But Derek knows.

There’s nothing specifically he can point to, nothing quantifiable. It’s a feeling. A sense that maybe Dex is a little stiff, a little uncomfortable, a little on edge around him, the tiniest bit of distance between them.

It’s making Derek  _ crazy. _

He tries talking about it, a tentative, resentful attempt to reassure Dex that Derek can keep that part of himself under wraps if need be, if it’s making Dex uncomfortable. He’s done it for years. It’s fine.

“No way,” Dex says instantly, his eyes utterly sincere. “This is your room, too. More yours than mine, if we’re being honest, since Lardo was going to give you her dibs before I decided to be the biggest dick ever. You deserve to be comfortable in your own space.”

“You do, too,” Derek shoots back. “If it--if I’m making you uncomfortable--”

He breaks off because Dex grabbed his hand to get his attention. “No. You’re not, Nursey, I swear. If you--do you need  _ me  _ to leave?”

Derek stares blankly at him for a minute, because this is such a difference from the Dex of last semester, so anxious for this room and the reduced rent cost that it’s hard to credit it. But even after this little time, it’s impossible to imagine this room without Dex. “No, no, I--I don’t want you to leave.”

Dex’s shoulders relax, tension running out of his body. “Okay. But, like, if you need me to be gone sometimes, you know I will, right? Or if anyone--I’ve got your back. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Derek says helplessly. He does. 

“Good.”

And in any reasonable world, that would have been that. 

But it’s still there, an itch under Derek’s skin that won’t go away, and nothing  _ works _ . He tries being as unobtrusive as possible, keeping his jewelry and makeup tucked away until he’s completely sure he’s alone. 

But even when he’s at his most overtly masculine, it doesn’t change anything. That feeling, that ineffable something, is still there, a subtle rasp until he feels raw and tender  _ everywhere. _

It doesn’t take long for him to throw up his figurative hands. He tried talking, and it didn’t resolve anything. He was willing, as much as he hates that conciliatory part of him, to pretend in order to keep the peace. But Dex doesn’t want to accept that? 

Fuck it. Fuck  _ him. _

Derek goes out and buys new jewelry, new clothes. Some of it has to be ordered online, but he manages to squeeze in a weekend trip to the city before their season gets started. And it’s not like he wears it every day, like he  _ needs _ it every day.

But some days he does. Some days the only thing that lets him breathe is the delicate gold chain around his neck, the subtle touch of eyeliner or mascara, the lacy panties he slips on before his jeans. His small box is replaced with a larger one, then a second, but half the time he doesn’t even bother to push it back under the bed. He half-expects it to be the spark that sets everything ablaze, burning it all to the ground.

Nothing changes.

Dex always comments, little compliments that are over so fast Derek doesn’t know how to respond, never anything even close to negative or derogatory, no matter how hard he picks at them, trying to find the hidden barbs. They practice together and play the best hockey they ever have, study together and watch shows together and sleep in the same room and  _ nothing changes. _

Derek has no idea what’s going on. He has no idea how to fix it. His anxiety and dysphoria is better than it has been in years, with the freedom to do what he needs to do, the safety of the Haus. But there’s still something wrong and he doesn’t know what it is, how to fix it. He doesn’t think Dex does either.

They don’t talk about it.

* * *

Will is losing his fucking  _ mind. _

It had been surprising enough, okay, to come to Samwell and be hit squarely between the eyes with Derek Nurse, attractive dude. It’s not that Will didn’t know bisexuality was a thing before he came to Samwell; he wasn’t raised in a cave. But somehow that fact never really seemed to apply to  _ him _ . He liked girls: kissing girls, touching girls, and, on a few memorable occasions, having sex with girls. Bisexual was a word, an abstract concept.

Until he met Nursey and was forced to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about himself.

So honestly, it shouldn’t be that surprising to find that the same thing was happening again. Will has made his peace with it, all right? He’s attracted to Nursey, he’s not straight. Sure, his stomach clenches up when he thinks about being out at home, with his family. Imagining telling them makes him want to crawl under Nursey’s bunk and never come out. 

But he’s dealing. Bitty knows, now, after a quiet conversation in the kitchen over a key lime pie filling that turns out perfectly, if Will says so himself, creamy and silky. And the world keeps turning, because of course it does, because only in Will’s worst panic attacks is the fact of his sexuality responsible for the complete collapse of his entire life.

Of course, just as Will reaches equilibrium, here comes new information. Because of course it does. Derek Nurse, attractive dude, apparently...isn’t always a dude? Maybe? Will’s research--of course he did research, the internet is your best friend when you’re tired of putting your ignorant foot in your mouth--was frustratingly inconclusive. 

He’s not even sure how Nursey identifies. Genderfluid? Genderqueer? Nonbinary? That’s probably a thing he should ask about, honestly. But Nursey already freaked out enough for that horrible, stammering conversation--when he thought he was making Will uncomfortable, enough so that he offered to--to crush that part of himself down, to  _ leave _ ?

The fact that he could even  _ think  _ that would be something Will would want makes Will want to find everyone who’s ever hurt him and beat them into a pulp. 

So the last thing he wants is to make it worse. He’s trying, honestly. This isn’t something he can relate to directly, but even somebody as dense as he is can see how much calmer Nursey has been lately, how much more comfortable in his own skin. Even at their worst, Will would never have wanted to ruin that for him.

So he’s doing his best to deal with the unmistakable fact that it doesn’t matter what gender Nursey identifies as. It doesn’t matter if he’s in a bro-tank and snapback or full-face makeup and a long, flowing skirt. No matter what he looks like, how he’s presenting, Will is still hopelessly attracted, impossibly, head over heels in--

Infatuation. 

Yes.

Definitely that.

Fortunately Will has a certain amount of experience with being infatuated with people who don’t feel the same way. He’s able to keep things on an even keel, keep it normal. Practices and team breakfasts and movie marathons and homework and roadies. It’s good, it’s so good; they’re at practically Ransom-and-Holster levels of connected both on the ice and off. Nursey is his best friend, somehow, and it just feels right. 

Is it worth risking that, everything that’s good between them, because Will has a crush?

Sometimes, staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night, he thinks so. His imagination paints a rosy picture of how much better it could be, the same synergy in a romantic relationship. But in the morning, under the cold light of day, well.

Will has always known he isn’t brave.

They don’t talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to be able to finish this before October and the full-court press on my YA novel, but I want to at least get us to the confession of feelings. Keep your fingers crossed for me. If you want to yell at me for being a terrible person to our boys, you can [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys have a lot of anxiety and a lot of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just so you know, there's some explicit content in this one. If that's not your jam, I would suggest skipping the final scene, the one that starts:  
> ""As soon as the door of their room closes behind them, Will pushes Derek gently back against it. “That was the longest dinner of my life,” he murmurs in between slow, melting kisses. “I was about ready to just throw my wallet at Chowder and drag you upstairs.”"
> 
> If you don't even like makeouts, I would suggest skipping the scene before it as well, the one that starts:  
> "Will really, really wants to spend the rest of his life making out with Derek Nurse. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about it, devoted a good deal of brainpower to imagining it, but the reality puts his imagination to shame."
> 
> Big thanks to ahausonfire for letting me steal her suggestion for the ending of this chapter!

It comes out of nowhere.

Derek thinks that somehow he should have expected it, that he let himself get complacent. Things have been better lately, for sure, easier, his dysphoria a quiet, easily sated murmur in the back of his brain instead of a roaring, snarling beast trying to claw him open. But he, of all people, should know better. Anxiety never really goes away. It lurks in the back of his brain, hovering below the surface like a sea monster, waiting for its chance to drag him under. 

Like today. At first it doesn’t seem so bad. He makes it through his first class of the afternoon okay, even remembering a couple of the things he’d wanted to point out in the group discussion. It’s fine. It’s okay. He can do this.

But the longer the day winds on, the more his chest tightens, his muscles tense, his stomach churns.  Eventually he finds himself locked in a bathroom stall, trying--and failing--to contain the tears that keep welling up, overflowing. He ends up just completely skipping his last two classes, unable to stand the idea of eyes on him as he comes in the room, being surrounded by people. Watching him. Judging him. Waiting for him to fail.

He can’t. He just can’t.

So he escapes back to the Haus, back to safety. He starts off at a brisk walk, nothing to see here, but by the time he comes around the corner onto Jason Street, he’s running flat-out. The looks he gets from people as he passes sear across his skin, burning like fire, but he can’t stop. Not here. 

The Haus is blessedly empty when he pulls the door open and slips inside, the dim silence wrapping around him, welcoming him home. It’s enough to let him slow down, catch his breath as best he can, walk up the stairs instead of breaking his neck trying to sprint. 

It’s been awhile since the last time things were this bad, but Derek’s body remembers, moves through the motions as if on autopilot. He strips as efficiently as possible, leaving his clothes in crumpled piles where they fall. He’ll pick them up later but until then, Dex will just have to deal.

Softness is the order of the day, getting rid of anything itchy or stiff or constricting. Once he’s down to his underwear, Derek pulls on his most broken-in sweatpants, his softest t-shirt, his favorite hoodie. 

It helps, gives him a little more space to breathe, but it’s not enough. The tears are still there, impossible to control. There’s no one here to see, no one to care, and he’s grateful, and he hates it. He doesn’t want people, staring eyes, barely hidden contempt. But he wants someone there, someone to wrap him up in softness and hold him until he can breathe again.

He wants Dex.

Fuck.

He pulls out his extra blankets mechanically, doing his best to convince himself not to text, to try and get Dex back here. Because the thing is, Dex would come. He would absolutely one hundred percent skip his afternoon classes and come back here to cuddle Derek through his pathetic little breakdown. He’s a good friend, he  _ takes care of people _ , it’s what he  _ does _ . Derek should know better than to think that it means anything more than that. And he does, deep down.

But sometimes, fuck, he  _ wants. _

He wants Dex to want him, to want  _ them _ , the way he does _. _ And he feels like the biggest asshole in the world for thinking it, because being Dex’s friend is one of the best things in his life. Derek already has  _ so much _ and here he is crying for more.

He rolls himself in the blankets as best he can, pulls them over his head and breathes in the dark, humid space underneath. It’s going to be fine, he tells himself. It’s going to pass. It always does. 

He survived eighteen years without William Poindexter in his life. It’s like a knife twisting in his gut to think about after college and how soon it’ll be here, about waking up in a room without Dex, about not seeing him in the morning and evening and texting him during the day. But he’s survived worse than this. His own goddamn brain tries to kill him on a semi-regular basis. He’s going to be okay.

But for right now, he lies under the blankets and counts his breaths, lets himself want Dex.

Even though it hurts.

* * *

Will makes an effort to shake his day off before he steps into the Haus. Yes, he has a shit-ton of homework to get done before their roadie this weekend, because of fucking course half of his assignments require an internet connection to complete. But his friends, his team don’t deserve to take the brunt of his irritation over a situation they didn’t cause. 

So he takes measured breaths as he climbs the stairs, doing his best to exhale the negativity or what the fuck ever--look, he knows it sounds woo-woo, okay? But he’d really like to not get an ulcer by the time he’s thirty like his Uncle Mark did, so if it works, he’ll do woo-woo shit all day long.

At first he thinks he’s beaten Nursey back. The room is dark and quiet, still. But there’s something in the air; it doesn’t feel empty. Will slides his backpack off and toes off his shoes, opting to let his eyes adjust to the dimness instead of turning on the light.

There are clothes scattered across the floor between the door and the beds, but he can’t remember if they were here this morning or not. They both have a bad habit of leaving clothes where they fall, only remembering to pick them up when the floor is an undifferentiated sea of their belongings, usually involving things that go crunch under someone’s foot.

Nursey’s bunk looks different, he thinks. Maybe. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t make it in the morning, leaving his blankets in a weird, rumpled landscape, twisted together into improbable shapes. But Will would have sworn that he’d made it this morning, smoothing the covers out with unusually focused attention until they were just so. 

As his eyes grow accustomed to the dark room, Will can see that the lump on Nursey’s bunk is moving slightly, like the person underneath the blankets is taking fast, jerky breaths. Almost panicked breaths.

“Nursey?”

The blanket lump stills momentarily, then Nursey’s head appears slowly at the top. “‘Sup?”

Will approaches cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Nursey’s clearly trying for flippant but he misses the mark by miles, his voice a little rusty. Will can’t tell for sure in the low light, but Nursey’s eyes look wet, a little swollen, like maybe he’s been crying. “You can turn on the light if you want. I’m just--I’m gonna--probably nap or something.”

That sounds a lot like bullshit, but Will bites back his immediate, instictive response. Combativeness is only going to make Nursey dig in his heels harder. “Nah, I don’t need the light. Can I get you anything?”

Nursey’s expression isn’t so much a smile as a baring of teeth. “I said I’m fine. Go do your thing, Poindexter.”

Will is almost, almost convinced. It’s hurtful, sure. They’ve gotten so close, they’ve been doing so well, and now Nursey is pushing him away? A big part of him wants to retreat, to curl up somewhere and lick his wounds. 

He’s about to shrug and turn away, when he hears it. The wet little catch in Nursey’s breathing, the half-strangled sob. That--that’s the last fucking straw. Because Nursey is  _ hurting _ , and if leaving is really the best thing for him, then obviously that’s what Will’s going to do. But he’s seen this before, the way Nursey plasters his “chill” mask on and pretends to be fine when he’s bleeding out on the inside. 

Will  _ knows _ him, okay? Nursey never asks for what he wants, what he needs, just pushes everything down deep until it won’t stay buried anymore and comes rushing to the surface. Will is damned if he's going to leave him alone like this, not if he doesn’t have to.

Nursey turns his face toward the wall, but Will can see the wet smears on his cheeks, hear the tears in his voice. “Just go, okay?”

“That’s bullshit,” Will says, doing his his best to keep his own voice calm and even. “Look, if you really, truly want to be alone, you’ve got it. I’ll sit outside this door and keep everyone away until you’re good. 

“But Nursey? I know you. The only time you actually want to be alone is when you’re writing and other people interrupt your train of thought.Right now something’s hurting you, and I want to help if I can. Let me help.  _ Please.”  _ That last comes out more pleading than he’d like, but he can’t help it.

Nursey’s throat moves as he swallows, his eyes sliding closed. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s too much.”

Will has to suck in a deep, cleansing breath to keep from growling his opinion of that. “I don’t have to, but I want to. I’ve  _ got your back _ , Nursey. That doesn’t just mean making sure you don’t fall asleep in the Starbucks drive-through after a kegster or spotting your bench press. I’m not just here for the good shit. I’m  _ here. _ No matter what.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Will interrupts. “Tell me what you need, Nursey. Please.”

He holds his breath, waiting, worrying that maybe he pushed too hard, read things wrong. Maybe he’s just making things worse when Nursey is already so upset--

“Can you hold me?” Nursey’s voice is so quiet it’s barely audible. 

“Yeah,” Will breathes, his knees going weak with relief. “Yeah, I can do that. Under the blankets or over?”

Nursey hesitates. “Under?”

“You got it.” Will starts unbuttoning his flannel as fast as he can. “Let me take this off first so I don’t get heatstroke under your blanket mountain, okay?”

He gets an almost imperceptible nod in response as the flannel falls to the floor. He hesitates at the edge of the bed, not wanting to force his way into Nursey’s blanket cocoon, but then Nursey rolls over to face him, lifting the blankets in a clear invitation.

It takes a few minutes to get themselves situated on a bunk intended for one normal-sized person, not two hockey players over six feet tall. But Will isn’t about to be hesitant now, not when Nursey could take it as an excuse to push him away again. He slides one arm under Nursey’s neck, wraps the other one over his waist, and pulls him in, letting their legs slot together as best as they can.

They’re the same height but Nursey feels small like this, curling himself in as close as he can after his initial hesitation. His breath is warm and humid where he’s buried his face in Will’s neck, the skin there getting damper by the moment as he starts to cry again, little silent sobs wracking his body.

Will pulls him closer, holds him tighter, rubbing circles on his back. Each tear, each gulping breath cuts through Will like a knife. He hates it. But the last thing he wants is to be another person Nursey has to pretend with, has to shove everything down and hide it behind fake chill. So he holds him as Nursey burrows closer still, until there’s no space between them, and bites down on the feelings that want to spill out of his mouth because  _ now is not the time, Will, Jesus. _

Eventually Nursey cries himself out, his breathing slowing gradually until Will is pretty sure he’s asleep, still clinging fiercely. Will shifts them around until feeling starts to come back to the arm trapped under Nursey’s head, pins and needles prickling under his skin, and closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t think there’s any way he can sleep, not under the circumstances. Not with Nursey curled up in his arms, soft and sweet and intimate in a way he didn’t think he’d ever have. But the last thing he remembers before the banging of doors and the clatter of feet on the stairs wakes him is the softness of Nursey’s hair against his jaw.

* * *

Derek wakes up slowly, his head aching slightly like it always does after a crying jag, wrapped in living, breathing warmth. For a second he’s confused, but then it all comes rushing back. His anxiety rising up until it crashed down over him in a huge, drowning wave, rushing back to the Haus when he couldn’t take it anymore, hunkering down to wait it out. 

And Dex. Refusing to let Derek push him away. Insisting that Derek let him help. Sure, they’re friends, best friends, really. But this? Making sure not to leave Derek alone, holding him while he cries, while he sleeps? 

Even for SMH, that’s above and beyond the call of friendship. Derek wants, oh, he wants to believe it’s something deeper. Something more. That maybe Dex wants the same thing he does. Right now, with Dex’s heart beating warm and strong under his cheek, with Dex’s hand rubbing slowly up and down his arm, it almost seems possible.

“Hey,” Dex says softly when he lifts his head. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Derek’s voice is rusty. “Sorry for blubbering all over you.”

He expects Dex to let go, but if anything, his grip tightens. “You don’t ever have to apologize,” Dex says fiercely. “I told you. I’m here. Whatever you need.”

The denial that rises to Derek’s tongue is instinctive, but he bites it back. Arguing with Dex’s stubborn ass is just going to make him dig in his heels. Anyway, it’s a dick move when Dex has been so--the only word for it is sweet, really.

So--”Thanks,” he says quietly. “For--for not letting me--I didn’t really want to be alone. I just--”

He trails off. There are so many words, but none of them are helpful, productive--even if they’re true. 

“Yeah,” Dex replies. “I get it.”

They lie there in silence for a moment. It should be awkward, being so close, wrapped up in each other with the familiar sounds of the Haus going on outside their room. But somehow, magically, it isn’t, and Derek is just the right kind of tired not to pick it apart, to just  _ be. _

“Thanks,” he says again after a while. “You didn’t have to--”

“I know,” Dex says, his voice soft and amused. “I told you. I want to.”

Derek knows he should accept it. They’re friends, they’re best friends, and after two years of Ransom and Holster as examples--well, everyone on the team has a very flexible view of friendship and personal boundaries. But he’s wrung out, like he always is after an anxiety attack, too tired to worry about shoulds. Too tired to stop the question. 

“Why?”

He pulls back enough that he can see Dex’s face, the adorable wrinkle he gets between his eyebrows when he’s confused, the way his hair is rumpled from lying there.

“Why?” Dex repeats, his voice incredulous. “Why would I want to help my best friend when he’s hurting? You’re right, Nursey, that’s a mystery.”

Derek shoves at his shoulder a little. Not enough to move him away. Just enough to make his point. “Shut up. Just. There’s been something weird lately--I don’t know. It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

For a minute he thinks that’s it, that Dex is going to take him at his word. But then--

“I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible. “I’m sorry, I thought I could--I’m sorry.”

A cold, brittle calm washes through Derek. So this is how it ends, with him wrapped warm and safe in Dex’s arms. This is how he learns the truth. “You thought you could what?”

Dex sucks in a long breath. “Do you remember after the toga kegster?”

Derek shakes his head, like he can shake the words into making some kind of sense, but it still seems like a non sequitur. “Yeah, you took my shoes off and put me to bed. What about it?”

“You said--” Dex hesitates, visibly working himself up to whatever it is he’s trying to say. “You said you thought I was going to hook up, and I said no, I thought you were going to hook up. And then--then you said ‘not if it’s not you.’”

The bottom drops out of Derek’s stomach. How, how did he fuck up so badly and not even remember, not even know. “I’m sorry,” he blurts, his heart racing in his chest. “I’m sorry, I made you uncomfortable, that’s not okay, I’m sorry, I’ll--”

“Nursey, no,” Dex interrupts, his thumb rubbing circles over Derek’s bicep. “I--I just--hooking up is a really bad idea, okay? That’s why I didn’t say anything. Because I can’t--I can’t be with you and then just--I don’t do casual. Have you met me? That’s not a thing. And then it would be awkward, and things have been good, they’re so good, like why would we fuck with that, I just--”

Derek presses his fingers to Dex’s lips to stop the babble. He’s very aware that he’s not firing on all cylinders right now, that maybe this is wishful thinking, but his whole fucking major is reading between the lines, seeing what’s there in the spaces between the words, the things left unspoken. And the shape of what Dex isn’t saying--

“Dex,” he says slowly, choosing his words more carefully than maybe any other time in his life. “Would you like to not casually hook up with me?”

Dex blinks at him, that wrinkle firmly back in place. “Are you--what are you asking?”

“William Poindexter,” Derek murmurs, bringing one hand up to frame the side of Dex’s face. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

The smile spreading across Dex’s face is like every overwrought cliche Derek’s ever read. Like sunshine, like wine, like fresh air. “Yeah,” he breathes, his arms tightening around Derek. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good.” 

Derek has to lean in to kiss him then, to taste that smile against his own lips. He didn’t think it was possible, but it tastes even better than it looks, like hope and forever and maybe all at once. He knows he’s being ridiculous and he doesn’t even care.

It’s perfect.

* * *

Will really, really wants to spend the rest of his life making out with Derek Nurse. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about it, devoted a good deal of brainpower to imagining it, but the reality puts his imagination to shame.

Derek--Will can finally think of him as Derek, allow himself to cross that last line of intimacy inside his head--is warm, surprisingly soft for someone with approximately 2% body fat. Will can’t stop touching, pulling Derek’s hoodie off first, then his t-shirt, tracing his tattoos and the lines where Derek’s muscles flow together. 

Derek’s hands are warm, too, where they’ve rucked up Will’s undershirt to press against the skin of his back, pulling him closer, to rest over his heart and feel it beating. He kisses like Will is a decadent treat, something to be savored and tasted and lingered over. Every kiss is slow and lush, completely absorbing.

It’s so much, the warmth of their bodies, the slickness of sweat where their bare skin slides together, the scratch of Derek’s stubble against Will’s cheek, his jaw, dragging down his neck and sending a shiver racing down his spine. Will is hard, it feels like he’s been hard forever, but this is so good, he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s perfect.

Unfortunately, not all bodily functions are so easily pushed aside. Will’s bladder decides to remind himself of its existence at a very inopportune moment--Derek has apparently decided that the best way to seal their new relationship is to leave a string of hickeys down Will’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Will moans, hating himself a little for what he’s about to do. “I--oh, fuck, Derek--”

“Feel good, baby?” Derek’s lips, red and just a little swollen, curve in a smug smile as he pulls back enough to admire his handiwork. 

He looks so good that Will loses his breath for a moment, just looking at him, but Will’s bladder is no respecter of soft, romantic moments, and decides to redouble its complaints. “So good, but I have to call a time-out and take a bathroom break.”

Derek’s pouting face is adorable, too, because Will is  _ completely gone _ on him. “Okay, fine.”

“I’ll just be a second,” Will promises, leaning back in to steal one quick kiss before getting up. One kiss turns to two, then to three. By the time he finally tears himself away he practically has to sprint to the bathroom, but it’s totally worth it.

He groans a little when he sees his reflection in the bathroom mirror while washing his hands. His hair is completely out of control, sticking out wildly in all directions, and his neck looks like he was attacked by a very methodical vampire, a line of precisely spaced purple marks marching down from just below his ear to where the last one disappears under the collar of his undershirt. 

“Jesus, Nurse,” he complains half-heartedly, pressing his fingers to the darkest hickey and shivering at the sensation. “Marking your territory much?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get my mouth on you,” Derek calls back through the open door.

Will watches helplessly as his whole face flushes pink. Somehow, the hickeys stand out even more against that shade than they did before. He turns away from the mirror, pausing in the bathroom doorway to just look at Derek, lying in the pool of warm light from their desk lamp

He’s kicked the blankets to the foot of the bunk, but there’s still a fine sheen of sweat covering his chest and arms. He’s definitely flexing, his arms folded behind his head, but Will can’t mind, can’t do anything but cross the room back to him, drawn closer with the inevitability of gravity.

Will is three steps from the bed when their door rattles in its frame. “Dex! Nursey! Bitty says it’s time for dinner!” Chowder’s voice carries through the closed door remarkably well. “You’ve been really quiet! Did you actually kill each other?”

Their eyes meet, a rueful mixture of amusement and regret. “We’re fine,” Will calls back, never looking away as Derek sits up and pulls his shirt back on, much more slowly and with much more flexing than is strictly necessary. “Just napping. Tell Bitty we’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay!”

Chowder thunders back down the stairs, making more noise than should be possible for one normal-sized human, even one with a full complement of hockey muscle. 

Will can’t help smiling softly as Derek gets to his feet, moving easily into Will’s space and running long, dexterous fingers through his hair. 

“I think the hair is a lost cause,” Derek says after a few seconds.

Will shrugs, his hands coming up automatically to rest on Derek’s hips. “I don’t really think anybody’s going to notice my hair when they could be looking at my neck. Nothing’s gonna cover all of those.”

“Yeahhhh.” Derek draws the words out, brushing his fingers down the side of Will’s neck, sending shivery sensation dancing over his skin. “I’d say sorry--”

“But you’re not,” Will finishes, unable to keep the fond smile from spreading across his face. “Neither am I, really. But you know they’re gonna chirp us to death.”

Derek leans in for a soft, lingering kiss. “Worth it,” he says with a wink when he finally pulls back.

“Yeah.”

Will links their fingers together as they head down the stairs, Derek a comforting presence at his back. He does his best to focus on that, the solid grip of Derek’s hand on his, instead of the anxiety trying to well up in his stomach, rising up in a choking wave. 

“Hey.” Derek squeezes his hand gently. “You okay? We don’t have to--”

“We don’t have to,” Will interrupts. He has to. He can’t let Derek finish that sentence.

If he does this, if he lets Derek give him an out, he might never stop hiding. And Derek--he deserves better than to be Will’s dirty little secret. He deserves someone who’ll hold his hand in public and kiss him wherever they are. Someone brave.

Will takes a deep breath. “We don’t have to,” he says again, his voice firmer. “But I want to. I’m not ashamed of you, Derek. I don’t want to hide you.”

The smile he gets in response can only be described as radiant, Derek practically glowing from the inside out. Will can no more stop himself from leaning in for a kiss than he can stop breathing.

“Fine!” Chowder’s voice echoes through the hallway, followed by an even louder gasp. “Oh my God! Dex?!? Nursey?!?!?!?”

Smiling is the best way to end a kiss, Will decides.

* * *

As soon as the door of their room closes behind them, Will pushes Derek gently back against it. “That was the longest dinner of my life,” he murmurs in between slow, melting kisses. “I was about ready to just throw my wallet at Chowder and drag you upstairs.”

“Mmmm,” Derek sighs, tipping his head back against the door. The hum becomes a moan when Will takes advantage of the movement to start sucking a mark of his own under Derek’s ear. “The chirping would never stop.”

Will’s shoulders move under Derek’s hands as he shrugs. “It’s never gonna stop anyway. Don’t you think it’s about time Chowder found out exactly how thin these walls are?”

“ _ William.” _ Derek tries to make his tone sound shocked, but he’s pretty sure it falls short of the mark. Will’s thumbs are sweeping over the strip of skin between Derek’s t-shirt and the waist of his sweatpants, making it hard to focus on anything other than that slow, teasing touch. “Are you suggesting that we have loud, wall-banging sex to get back at C and Farms?”

Will’s tightens his grip on Derek’s waist a little, runs his tongue over the tender spot he left on Derek’s neck. “I’m suggesting,” he breathes, raising goosebumps on Derek’s skin, “that we have loud, wall-banging sex because I don’t want to waste a single second when I could be touching you.”

Derek is vaguely surprised that he doesn’t slide down to the floor, just melt completely into a puddle from the sweetness of the words. He pulls Will into a kiss instead, trying to put what he’s feeling into the movement of lips and teeth and tongues.

They’re both breathing heavily when they break apart, faces still so close that Derek could count Will’s freckles, given the time. 

“Bed?” Will is tugging him backward as soon as Derek nods, leading him toward the bottom bunk. By the time they reach it, he’s managed to pull Derek’s shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside to land unheeded on the floor.

“What--” Derek sucks in a breath, the feeling of Will’s strong, calloused hands on his skin stealing the air from his lungs. ‘What do you want?”

Will smiles, soft and sweet, kisses him the same way. “You,” he says simply. “Just you.” 

Derek can’t help smiling back as he busies himself tugging Will’s undershirt up and off, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them to the floor, while Will returns the favor. It’s slow progress because they can’t seem to stop kissing, stop touching, and they’re both still in their underwear when they overbalance and tumble, laughing, into the bottom bunk.

Their kisses are almost lazy; deep and wet and full of want, but an end in themselves instead of a means to reach one. Derek’s always loved kissing, and for awhile he thinks he could be content to kiss and kiss until they fall into sleep. But then Will’s thigh presses against his cock and he can’t help rolling his hips, trying to get more of the pressure, the delicious friction. 

“Can I--” Will hesitates for a minute, his throat working as he swallows. “Can I blow you?”

Derek doesn’t mean to pause before he answers, he’s just pretty sure every remaining ounce of his body has drained into his cock, leaving him with none to operate his brain cells for a second. “Yeah. I mean--you don’t have to--”

Will’s mouth quirks up at the corner as he darts in for another kiss. “I want to,” he says firmly, kissing his way down Derek’s neck, over the knobs of his collarbones, further down his chest. “I want you.”

Any response Derek might have made is lost when Will flicks his tongue over first one nipple, then the other. He has no idea when Will figured out how sensitive his nipples are, but thankfully he doesn’t linger very long over them, dragging his tongue down over Derek’s abs and pressing a soft kiss just below his navel before pulling his boxer briefs slowly down.

Derek sucks in a breath when Will’s hand circles his cock, the feeling almost too much after the long build-up. “I--I might not last too long,” he warns, shuddering as Will gives him one long, torturous stroke.

“Good,” Will says with a smirk. “Because if I hold out for thirty seconds after you get your hands on my cock it’ll be a fucking miracle.”

Without further ado, he ducks his head down, licking over the head before closing his mouth over it, sliding slowly down.

The sight is too much, Will’s pink lips wrapped firmly around the flushed brown of Derek’s shaft. He has to drop his head back onto the pillow, close his eyes, but that’s it’s own problem. Without sight, everything else is magnified--the slow, wet drag of Will’s mouth as he takes Derek a little deeper every time, the warmth of his hands pressing Derek’s hips into the bed, the smell of sex that grows thicker with each inhale.

Derek bites back the noises trying to escape his throat, but Will pulls off with a frankly obscene pop. “Don’t do that. I want to hear  you, Derek. I need--I need to know you want this too, that I’m doing okay.”

“Will,” Derek breathes, lifting a hand to slide through Will’s hair, to cup the side of his face. “It’s so good, baby. You’re so good. I’m amazed I haven’t come already; I’ve never had like, four hours of foreplay before.”

Something in all that babble must have been the right thing to say, because Will smiles, dipping his head back down. This time he takes almost all of Derek’s cock in one stroke, his mouth hot and wet, and Derek barely controls the urge to thrust up into that welcoming warmth.

“So good,” he moans, closing his eyes again. “You’re so good, baby. I’m so fucking close--fuck, yeah, just like that. Oh God, Will--don’t stop--fuck--I’m gonna--”

That’s all the warning he manages to get out, but Will just takes him deeper, sucking and swallowing as he comes until Derek has to pull him away, unable to handle the intensity on his overstimulated cock. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, pulling Will up until they can kiss, soft and lazy, until Will’s weight is draped over him like a comforting blanket. “I’ma get you in, like, two minutes, ‘kay baby?”

“Okay,” Will laughs, nuzzling his face into Derek’s neck. “Are you always this cuddly after you come?”

That question requires some thought, which isn’t helped by the slow return of blood to other regions of his body. “I guess? Maybe more with you though.” Derek pauses, then adds, in a flash of probably inspired genius, “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out, huh?”

Will laughs again, bright and happy. “Just try getting rid of me, Nurse.”

The hammering of Derek’s heart in his chest gradually slows, his breath coming more steadily. Will’s cock is hard between them, but he doesn’t seem to mind, pressing little kisses to whatever part of Derek’s skin he can reach.

“Hey,” Derek says finally. “Can you lay back for me?”

Will acquiesces with a shrug, rolling them so he’s lying on his back under Derek. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” Derek punctuates the word with a kiss before he gets down to the serious business of mapping every inch of Will’s skin with his hands. “I want to look at you.”

He watches in fascination as the blush floods Will’s cheeks, his neck, flowing lower and spreading across his chest. 

“Really?”

He thinks Will meant the word to sound flippant, but there’s a vulnerable edge there that Derek can’t ignore. “Really,” he says firmly, stroking his hands slowly up Will’s arms, then down his chest, his abs, pushing his boxers down an inch or so. “You’re gorgeous, Will. Do you know how hard it’s been, sharing a room with you, knowing that I shouldn’t look, couldn’t touch?”

Will laughs, but it’s amusement, not mockery. “Yeah, I think I have an idea.”

“Good.” Derek pulls Will’s boxers the rest of the way off, watching avidly as his cock springs free. “I’ve spent a lot of time imagining what you look like when you come. I bet you’re even better than I imagined.”

“Fuck,” Will breathes, his eyes wide. A shudder ripples through him when Derek gets a hand around his cock, hot and hard, flushed one shade deeper than his chest. 

Derek gives him an experimental stroke, but it’s just a little too dry, too much friction. He keeps his hand where it is and uses the other to fish out the lube he tucked between the mattress and the wall.

Will hisses out a breath at the touch of the lube, slightly colder than room temperature, but his eyes flutter shut at the first long, slick stroke of Derek’s hand. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice caught somewhere between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck, Derek, please--”

“Tell me what you need, baby,” Derek coaxes, watching the head of Will’s cock disappear and reappear inside his hand. “Wanna see you come for me, come on.”

“Faster,” Will chokes out, his whole body arching as he fucks up into Derek’s fist. “Please, please, I’m so close, please--”

If Derek hadn’t just come literally minutes ago, he’s pretty sure he’d be hard again, just from the sight in front of him, the wet, filthy noises, the way Will is unabashedly begging, completely vulnerable and unrestrained. As it is, he’s doing his best to give Will what he needs, what he asked for, moving his hand over Will’s cock in fast, tight strokes until he comes all over Derek’s hand and his own stomach with a long groan.

Derek squeezes himself into the space between Will and the wall, letting his messy hand fall onto Will’s stomach. They’ll worry about the cleanup in a minute.

“What do you think?” he asks after a minute. “Were we loud enough?”

Will shrugs without opening his eyes, still breathing hard. “I dunno. Might have to try again later.”

Derek’s face might hurt a little from smiling, but he doesn’t care. “I could be down for that. I’ll have to check with my boyfriend, though.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be cool with it,” Will says with a snort. “He seems like a pretty chill dude.”

“The chillest,” Derek agrees, snuggling in closer. Will’s arm comes up to curl around his shoulders and he sighs happily. They’re a mess, sweaty and covered in tacky, drying semen, but in this moment, with the two of them together, none of that matters.

It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I'm going to be slowing down my output on this fic during October, because I'm going to be attempting a NaNoWriMo-style first draft of my YA novel (aka the Big Bisexual Werewolf Novel). If you like werewolves, queer things, families of choice, and/or sort-of-enemies-to-lovers romance, you can ask for an invite to [follow my draft progress in the Dreamwidth community](http://bbwn.dreamwidth.org)
> 
> And as always, you're welcome to [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first kegster as boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! I mean, obviously you know that, because I've been posting other things. My sincerest apologies to everyone who has subscribed to this fic. The last year and a bit has been a whirlwind. I wrote a YA novel, started a self-publishing career, and had a new baby in my house. And this chapter has been sitting half-finished in my WIPs folder for months, waiting for me to find the time and the inspiration to finish.
> 
> Anyway! Huge inspiration for this chapter came from [this incredible art by angeryginger](https://angeryginger.tumblr.com/post/169001166512/angeryginger-a-friend-of-mine-is-having-a-90s). Big thanks to Shelly for gently poking me about finishing when my anxiety was telling me no one cared anymore and to rhysiana for the short-notice beta and reassuring me that it was an okay chapter to post.
> 
> I do still want to do chapter 7, which will be the epilogue of their future life, and with any luck we'll get to that before the end of 2019!

“The next kegster theme is ‘90s!” Ollie announces, fistbumping Wicky without looking. “Dress appropriately and either make music suggestions in the group text or by texting one of us. Yes, Tango?”

“I was just wondering why we keep having themes? Not that I’m complaining, but it’s just a little different, and the regular kegsters were fun--”

Wicky raises a hand to cut off the stream of words once it becomes clear there’s no end in sight. “We’ve had non-themed kegsters. But the themes are fun, and girls like a reason to dress up.”

“Not just girls,” Bitty agrees. “Now then, y’all better get cleaned up before my nose decides to stop working from the smell. Good work today, everybody.”

The locker room dissolves into little pockets of conversation. Will groans as he finishes taking off his pads and stowing them in his stall. “90s? Seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do for that?”

“Bro, nobody who owns as much flannel as you do should feel the need to ask that question,” Derek retorts, peeling his underarmour up and over his head. “Just go as a grunge fan. Problem solved.”

Will shakes himself out of his reverie, jerking his eyes away from Derek’s naked torso on reflex before he remembers that he’s allowed, encouraged even, to look now. “Yeah, whatever. Some of us like to put forth some effort, Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Tell it to someone who didn’t have to help you with your toga, William. Five bucks says you show up in flannel and a band tee.”

“Your money’s no good here,” Will retorts, glancing around. Nobody seems to be paying much attention so he leans in until his lips brush against Derek’s ear. “If you want a bet, you’ll have to make it interesting.”

“Oh, I’ll show you interesting,” Derek mutters, biting his lip.

Will’s smile is so wide it almost hurts his cheeks, and he doesn’t even mind. “Looking forward to it,” he says quietly, stripping out of his own gear. And if he moves a little slowly and bends over a little more than necessary--well, for some reason, his boyfriend seems to like his body. It’d be a shame not to show it off.

* * *

Derek puts the finishing touches on his eye makeup, checking the smoky eyeshadow critically before straightening up to see as much of his outfit as possible in the mirror. The black stretchy tattoo choker fits perfectly around the base of his neck, coordinating with the black lace trim on the silky pink cami he’s paired with audaciously short denim cutoff shorts. His knee-high pink socks are maybe just a little bit much, but fuck, it’s a kegster. Besides, in combination with his Mary Janes, they give the whole outfit a certain trashy-schoolgirl vibe. The stack of rubber bracelets on the counter is the final touch and completely worth the effort it takes to wriggle them onto his wrist.

He opens the bathroom door and stops in the doorway, staring. He’d honestly figured that Will would end up going for flannel, had been prepared to laugh off their good-natured bet as a joke. But Will is smirking at him from under a backward snapback, black tank top showing off his freckled shoulders and look, Derek gets to see those shoulders regularly in a lot less clothing. There’s no reason this outfit should be making his mouth water. And yet.

“Well?” Will raises his eyebrows.

“Fuck,” Derek says, shaking his head. “Where the fuck did you find a cowrie necklace?”

Will shrugs, his shoulders fucking rippling, fuck Derek’s entire  _ life _ . “They sell them at the head shop in town.”

“Of course they do,” Derek says faintly, distracted by--are those cargo shorts? “Jesus, you look like every douchey hot guy I ever had a crush on.”

“Oh yeah?” Will’s smirk widens. “Wanna tell me about it?”

The sound of the Spice Girls demanding the listener tell them what you really really want blasts from the speakers downstairs, thankfully interrupting them before they can get too deep into Derek’s terrible taste in past crushes. “Party’s started,” he says unnecessarily, heading for the door. “You gonna dance with me, William?”

“Like I’d pass up a chance to get my hands all over you.” Will grabs his hand as he passes, following him down the stairs. “Let’s go, babe.”

* * *

Derek pauses with the cup of tub juice halfway to his mouth, waits until Will meets his eyes. “I want to be very clear about this.”

“Okay?” Will has no idea what this is about, but Derek has his serious face on, so he lowers his own beer and listens.

“I am going to have one, maybe two cups of tub juice. Enough to be tipsy but not totally blitzed.” Derek pauses, waiting for some response. Will’s nod seems to suffice, because he continues. “I’m going to dance with you until we get so embarrassing that we’re fined and sent back up to our room. At which point, I would very much like to have tipsy sex with my boyfriend. Who is not going to cockblock me on this, because I am currently giving him my enthusiastic, sober prior consent. Clear?”

Will swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. “Clear.” 

Derek’s grin is like a flash of sunlight through the dim room. Will is aware that this is maybe the cheesiest metaphor he’s ever thought, and he doesn’t even care. “Good.”

Derek lifts the cup back to his lips, drinking it down fast and focused before dragging Will onto the dance floor. Not that it takes much persuading. Will never really thought he’d be here, dancing close and filthy with Derek to the song from Magic Mike. But he is, Derek’s body warm where it’s plastered up behind him, Derek’s cock a hard line against his ass that makes him shiver. Makes him think seriously about saying “fuck the kegster” and dragging Derek back up to their room. 

But Derek is having fun, is the thing. He looks happy, when he spins Will around and pulls him close, swaying with him to a slow song Will vaguely remembers from middle school dances. Almost fucking glowing, and maybe that’s cheesier than before, but again, Will can’t care. 

Eventually they get thirsty and go in search of more drinks. Derek nurses his second cup of tub juice slowly, which means some of it inevitably gets spilled on Will’s arm. If anyone from the team had seen Derek grab his hand, lick up the sticky liquid with slow, lingering attention to detail--well, the fines would probably have cleaned out even Nursey’s wallet temporarily. 

The music changes again to a song even Will recognizes after Bitty’s determined tutelage, almost drowned out by Derek’s whoop as he downs the last of his tub juice and pulls Will back out onto the floor.

This time it’s Will with his arms around Derek as Destiny’s Child advises ladies to leave their man at home. He can’t resist slipping his fingertips under the hem of that silky top to find skin, pulling Derek back against him so there isn’t an inch of space left between his hips and Derek’s ass. 

He can’t dance like Derek does, but like this, all he has to do is hold on, follow his sinuous rolls and grinds. His breath hisses out through his teeth when Derek drops his head back onto his shoulder, reaches back and around to grab Will’s ass and press them even closer together. 

They’re already being more demonstrative than Will usually gets in public, but this isn’t usual. He has Derek in his arms, gorgeous and sexy and his. It’s not like the whole room is watching, but he doesn’t care if they are, because the only person that matters is right in front of him.

He feels it against his chest, Derek’s intake of breath when Will drags the hem of his top up, up, showing off those ridiculous fucking abs, clutching the line of lace at the neckline and dipping a thumb under to accidentally-on-purpose brush over Derek’s nipple. His other hand drops down into the pocket of Derek’s almost obscenely short shorts. 

“Fuck,” Derek breathes, arching up into the touch when Will’s fingertips brush over the hard line of his cock. If Will wasn’t pressed up against him, there’s no way he would’ve heard it over the music. “Baby, I--”

Will leans in, his lips brushing over Derek’s ear. “Think we’re embarrassing enough yet?”

“I--fuck, I dunno,” Derek gasps. “Don’t stop.”

The last thing Will wants to do is stop. He feels like he’s glowing, warmth spreading through his body, radiating out from Derek’s touch when he reaches back, clutching at Will’s hip, his ass. Holding him there like there’s a chance in hell Will’s going to pull away.

He nuzzles his way down Derek’s neck, catching that ridiculous choker in his teeth. Derek’s head falls back onto his shoulder, and if Will hadn’t already been utterly, ridiculously hard, that would have gotten him there.

“Hey, hey!” Ollie and Wicky materialize next to them. “No actual sex on the dance floor, boys. Take it upstairs, since you literally have a room.”

“Whatever.” Derek squeezes Will’s ass one more time before letting go. “C’mon, babe, we know when we’re not wanted.”

Will probably should be embarrassed by this, his boyfriend towing him through the kegster toward the stairs while they’re both visibly hard. But every time that feeling rises up, it’s drowned in that warm glow, in Derek’s touch and smile, in--if Will is allowed to be shallow--the incredible curve of Derek’s ass in those damn shorts.

He wants--he wants so much it’s overwhelming, so much that when they’re finally alone, the door closed and locked behind them, he goes blank for a minute with it.

Luckily it doesn’t seem like Derek has that problem. He reels Will in for a kiss, hot and hungry and sweet with the tub juice lingering on his tongue. They kiss until they’re breathless with it, gasping for air when they separate. 

“Want you to fuck me.” Derek pushes Will’s snapback off, running his hands through Will’s hair like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

It takes a couple of seconds for Will to kickstart his brain after that announcement. “I--you--are you sure?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I bottomed?” Derek asks. His slightly petulant face shouldn’t be adorable, but Will has given up on any kind of reasonable reactions when it comes to his boyfriend. “Besides, I’m too tipsy to top you right now. Please?”

“Whatever you want,” Will says. “Anything you want.”

That earns him another kiss, Derek’s hands sliding up under his tank top. Will has only had less than one beer, thanks to getting dragged out onto the dance floor, but he’s dizzy with it. With Derek’s hands on his skin, with the fact that he can think “my boyfriend” and have it mean Derek, with the taste of Derek on his tongue. And most of all, with what they’re about to do.

“Bed,” he manages when they break apart. 

“You have the best ideas.” Derek pulls slowly free of Will’s hands--when did they end up on Derek’s ass? Who knows. Will has more important things to think about. Like the sway in Derek’s hips as he moves toward the bed, kicking off his shoes, stripping his top off and tossing it aside. The way he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of those damn shorts, pushing them down to the floor.

The way he’s suddenly naked except for the socks. Which, damn. Will’s tongue feels suddenly too big for his mouth, his mouth and throat achingly dry.

Derek shoots him a look over his shoulder, like he doesn’t know what he looks like right now. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Not exactly,” Will manages. He manages to get his body moving again; thank fuck moving toward Derek takes zero thought, because all the blood in his body has definitely settled in his cock by now. “Can I--”

“Can you what?” Derek prompts when he stumbles to a halt. “Use your words, baby.”

Will’s face flames hot, but with Derek looking at him, he somehow manages to be brave. “Can I take them off? Your socks?”

He actually managed to surprise Derek, which is nice. “Yeah.” Derek sits down on the bottom bunk, looking up at him almost shyly. “If you want, I mean.”

“I want.” Will folds to his knees, reaching for the cuff at the top of one sock. He can’t find the words to say what he’s feeling right now. That’s not surprising, but it is frustrating, because he wants to. 

“What are you thinking?” Derek reaches out to touch his face, a barely-there caress that Will feels all the way down to his bones.

Words aren’t his thing, but he can try, right?

“Thinking about the other kegster,” he says. The sock is soft, not scratchy like he might have expected, warm from Derek’s body. He slides his fingers under the cuff, between the softness of the sock and Derek’s skin, nudging it carefully down, down. “Untying your sandals--I wanted you. So much.”

“Me too.”

Will follows the sock all the way down to Derek’s ankles, his feet, then brings his hands back up to rub at the indentations left by the cuff. “And this is so much like it--but not, you know? It’s like--hell, I don’t know.”

“Like another chance,” Derek says. He sucks in a breath when Will leans forward, presses his lips to the still-indented skin of his thigh. “Oh, fuck.”

Will grins up at him, sort of ignoring the way Derek’s cock twitches in his peripheral vision. “Only half done. Gotta finish up.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Derek says. “This is it. This is how I die.”

Repeating the process with the other sock, Will can’t stop smiling. He’d imagined sex with Derek a lot, but he’d never realized how much fun it would be. “Nah. I have plans for you.”

“Hopefully those plans include sex at some point before I die of old age--fuck me.”

Will kisses the other thigh, a soft, open-mouthed kiss. When Derek lets his legs fall apart a little more, he takes the hint, adding the slightest scrape of teeth and smiling to himself at the way Derek’s muscles tremble.

“That’s the plan,” he says. As much as he’s enjoying himself down here--and he is--he’s also only human, and they’ve just spent God knows how long on the dance floor as foreplay. But no matter how much he complains, Derek isn’t ready yet. “Um, do you still have that lube?”

Derek produces it with a little “ta-da” noise. It’s probably a bad sign that Will finds that dorkiness endearing, but oh well. Too late to worry about that now.

“I, uh, have condoms and gloves in my sock drawer.” 

“Cool,” Will says. Maybe a little too fast, but hell. He defies literally anyone to be cool when faced with a naked Derek Nurse. “I’ll, uh, go get those.”

He’s never been so grateful for the small size of their room as he is at this moment. Three steps to the dresser, finding the small container with gloves and condoms, and three steps back. Not enough time to lose his nerve.

Mostly.

“You’ll tell me if I fuck this up, right?” 

Wow, apparently half a beer and naked Derek Nurse are enough to disable his brain-to-mouth filter. Good to know.

“Will, baby.” Derek smiles at him and, thank fuck, somehow doesn’t look turned off. “I will absolutely a hundred percent tell you if you fuck it up. But you’re not going to.”

“How do you know?”

Derek frames Will’s face with his hands. “Because,” he says, “you pay attention.”

Will waits, but nothing else is forthcoming. “That’s it?”

“That’s so much, baby.” Derek kisses him. “Now get down here and finger me. But first, take off your pants. I’m feeling underdressed.”

As much as Will would normally bristle at being told what to do, in this context it’s oddly comforting. He can’t fuck that part up, because Derek told him what to do. And they may not have been doing the boyfriend thing for long, but he trusts Derek. Has for years.

So he takes off his pants, feeling the heat in his face spread down his neck and across his chest. He puts on a glove and drizzles lube over his index finger. He experiences a minor heart attack when Derek executes a beautiful bridge pose and tucks a pillow under his hips.

“There,” Derek says. “I fingered myself in the shower before the kegster, so don’t worry about being too rough.”

“Jesus fuck.” Will has to breathe through that for a minute, the mental picture almost too much to take. “You can’t just say shit like that, Nurse.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “What can I say, then? Do you need a point-by-point instruction sheet?”

“That might help,” Will mumbles. “Since I’ve never done this before. Um. Shit. I mean, not to anybody else.”

“Oh, baby. The principle is the same.” Derek circles his hand around Will’s wrist, brings his hand down where he wants it. “Right there. Go ahead. I want you to, Will.”

For all Will’s apprehension, it turns out, annoyingly, that Derek was right. Once he adjusts to the change in angle, the muted sensation from the glove, it’s strangely familiar to push a finger inside Derek. Strangely easy to follow Derek’s instructions, to pay attention to the cadence of his breathing, the movement of his hips, the noises falling from his mouth.

Derek talks him through it, having him add a second finger much sooner than Will would have, throwing his head back on the pillow as his hips arch up to get Will’s fingers deeper.

“I’m ready,” he pants.

“Are you sure?” Will asks. It’s been simultaneously no time at all and an eternity, measured in the throb of his pulse, the breaths that Derek has taken.

Derek does his best to glare, but he can’t quite manage it. “I’m sure. Come on, baby, get that condom on and fuck me.”

Will finds himself almost reluctant to withdraw his fingers, but he reminds himself that it’s for a good cause. Turning the glove inside-out as he strips it off, he tosses it hastily in the direction of the trash can. 

Derek already has the condom packet open, sitting up and holding it out. “Can I?”

“Um.” Will does a quick self-assessment, but he basically always wants Derek touching him, so there’s really only one answer. “Yeah, please.”

It’s worth every torturous moment to have Derek’s hand on his cock, rolling the latex down to the root. Derek pulls him in, kisses him deep and hungry and so good that Will almost doesn’t notice the leg hooking around his waist.

Almost.

“If you ask me if I’m sure again I might actually kill you,” Derek says. Lying back on the bed, he uses that leg to pull Will even closer. “Do it, Will.”

Will takes a deep breath and lines himself up, starts to push inside. He wants to go slow, to be careful, but Derek keeps pulling him deeper, keeps lifting his hips whenever Will pauses. All too soon, he’s buried as deep as he can go, braced over Derek on shaking arms.

“Wow,” he breathes. He can’t even be embarrassed about it; that’s the only thing he could possibly say right now.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “Now fuck me, baby.”

This--this Will can do. His body knows how to do this, a slight withdrawal, a deeper thrust into the hot, tight clasp of Derek’s. 

“Yes, like that.” Derek runs his hands up Will’s arms, down his back. Like he can’t stand not to be touching Will right now. “That’s perfect, Will, baby, you’re so good. Just like that.”

Will does his best to focus on the instructions, but his conscious mind is quickly becoming unraveled. Lucky for him, what Derek is asking for is the only thing he thinks he can do right now. 

He has no idea how long they go like that, Will fucking into Derek, their bodies close together, breathing each other’s air, kissing when they can coordinate it. It doesn’t really matter, except that he never wants it to end.

It does, eventually, of course. “Faster now,” Derek pants. He’s arching up with each thrust, his cock grinding against Will’s stomach. “A little harder--yeah, fuck, baby, like that, perfect. You’re--fuck, Will, you’re gonna make me come--”

Will has never wanted anything in his life as much as he wants to make Derek come right now. Sure enough, a half-dozen thrusts later, Derek’s eyes flutter closed, his fingertips digging into Will’s biceps, his body tightening around Will’s.

“Fuck,” he groans, all breath and no sound.

And that--Will can’t possibly be expected to hold onto control in the face of that. He loses all rhythm, fucking raggedly into Derek until he comes, too.

He does his best not to collapse on top of Derek, because that’s rude. But then Derek’s hands are on his back, urging him down, so he goes, tucking his face into the side of Derek’s neck. It feels good like that, safe. With Derek’s arms and legs still wrapped around him, Derek’s scent in every breath he takes. He can wait while his racing heart slows, can float in this feeling of contentment and just be.

Of course, his brain does eventually come back online. “I should get off you,” he says reluctantly. 

“Should you?” Derek strokes a hand through his hair.

“We’re going to be glued together with dried jizz,” Will points out. 

Derek’s sigh is so deep it lifts Will, still lying on his chest. “Fine. Bring logic into it. But don’t think you’re getting out of the post-coital cuddling, Poindexter. I have needs.”

And somehow the laughter is enough to keep Will warm through all the messy details of cleanup, until they’ve managed to pretzel themselves onto a single bed not intended for two hockey players.

“Ollie and Wicky have the right idea,” Derek says drowsily in the dark. “We need a big bed. You’re handy, you can make that happen, right?”

Will smiles at him, savoring the flash of teeth he gets in return, the soft kiss. “Whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks for sticking with me! If you like the way I write dumb hockey boys in love, you might want to check out [my author Tumblr](http://ariel-bishop.tumblr.com). And you're always welcome to follow the random assortment of crap that is [my main Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to come yell at me about dumb hockey boys, I'm [on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)!


End file.
